Brother Complex
by VixonVulpe
Summary: It had just been a dream, really. But when they finally took Alfred seriously and started that band, things didn't really go the way they expected. They learned more than they maybe wanted to about each other. It seems they had more in common than musical talent, though. [Human AU. USUK, PruCan. Allegorical references to history. M for language and lemons later on.]
1. Fireworks

-_We all wanna be big stars, but we don't know why, and we don't know how...-  
Mr. Jones; Counting Crows_

_-Hetalia-_

"Dudes, I wanna start a band."

Matthew was used to this. Alfred proclaimed his life long dream nearly every three days. This time, they had gathered in the back of his pick-up truck parked beside the lake, waiting for the fireworks show to begin. Every year Alfred claimed the explosions were to commemorate his birthday, as if the shows had only begun seventeen years ago, and every year Matthew quietly pointed out that there was a fireworks show on _his _birthday as well, just three days prior, but his American step-brother insisted the shows weren't in celebration of Canada Day or the Fourth of July. _"The world just appreciates our existence." _

Their town was filled to the brim with immigrants from nearly every nation, all harmonized more or less together (though the Greeks somehow never ended up on the same street as the Turkish), and therefore the American independence day wasn't the only national day celebrated. Many major holidays were respected by the town and its cultured population.

The step-brothers were sitting in the bed of Alfred's truck with their English friend Arthur and their German (though he preferred to be called Prussian) friend Gilbert when Alfred began another one of his iconic rambles.

"Oh not this again," Arthur rolled his eyes, taking another swig from his soda. The stores were selling the old fashioned glass bottles in celebration of Independence Day, classics the very patriotic Alfred insisted they purchase.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Alfred demanded, dropping off mid-rant to glare at Arthur. As Gilbert began snickering across from him, Matthew sensed the oncoming argument. For a short moment he seriously wondered if they could ever have a calm get-together. Probably not.

"Nothing, you twit, only that you tell us this every other Wednesday. We _know _your one true purpose in life is to hog the attention of a room full of fourteen year old girls for an hour. But you'll never do anything to get there, so honestly, why do you keep going on about it?"

If it weren't for Gilbert, things might have become awkward. The so-called Prussian's "Kesesesese," of a snicker not only filled the space it took Alfred to come up with a retort, but seemed to even goad him on a bit.

"Dude, only boy bands get mobbed by fourteen year olds," Alfred rolled his eyes. Matthew took a quiet sip from his own soda and hoped things wouldn't elevate too much tonight. It seemed unlikely, though, from the direction this argument was taking. "And I'm serious this time! It's, like, my Fourth of July Resolution!"

"Um, Al? I think you mean New Year's..."

"No way, Matt, it's totally the Fourth of July. It's my birthday, remember?" Matthew just sighed as Alfred carried on in oblivion.

"Only you would make a resolution on Independence Day," Arthur rolled his eyes. Alfred seemed to be deaf to the Englishman.

"C'mon, Gil, you think a band'd be cool too, right?" Alfred pressed. Gilbert grinned around the mouth of his bottle as he finished his swig.

"Ja, could be pretty awesome if you did it right," he agreed. Alfred gave a shout of triumph and high-fived the albino from his perch on the edge of the truck.

"See, Gil thinks I can do it," he said smugly to Arthur.

"Now wait just a second, all he said was-"

"La la la, I can't hear nay-sayers, la la la," Alfred half shouted as he covered his ears, holding his soda between his legs so it didn't spill. Arthur huffed and kicked him in the shin, nearly sending the American from where he sat to the ground. Alfred's hands quickly shot down to grip the edge of the truck as he glared playfully at Arthur.

"Not cool, Iggy," he scolded. Arthur crossed his arms and smirked.

"Well, what was I supposed to do, wait for you to shut up?"

"Well I always do it for you,"

Even though he knew they were just joking around, the argument was making Matthew uncomfortable. He held his bottle close and looked down at his crossed legs as they continued, just wishing the sun would set all ready so the show would begin.

They must have bothered Gilbert too, or maybe he just wanted to insult them, because he interrupted them with "Ladies, please, you're both pretty," and burst into another snickering fit at the glares he received.

"Whatever," Alfred shrugged, looking over his shoulder to check the sun's progress. It was nearly half down now. "Figured you guys were too lame to join me anyway," he said pointedly.

"Hey, you never asked the Awesome Me to be in a band with you," Gilbert argued. Alfred grinned as his bait was taken.

"Do you want to?" he asked, glancing slyly at each of them in turn.

"What, join you?" Arthur scoffed dismissively, but the tiny twitch in the corners of his mouth gave him away. Alfred's grin widened.

"Well I did say _band_, you know. Who else would I get except my best friends?"

"And step-brother," Matthew added quietly.

"Oh, shut up, man, you're totally more of a friend than some kid who ended up living with me," Alfred grinned. Matthew wasn't sure how to take that.

"So you expect me to agree to another of your half-baked plans that you'll probably forget by next Tuesday?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"C'mon, dude, I'm not _that _impulsive," Alfred snorted.

"Right, so next Wednesday, then."

"Well, if you don't want to be in it..." Alfred shrugged, pouting as he looked back over the lake at the tree line blocking the orange rays of the setting sun. Arthur rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting, taking another sip instead. Apparently the sugar had allowed the Brit to collect his thoughts.

"I refuse to take part of a harebrained scheme concocted by you," he informed Alfred. "_However,_" he began, causing Alfred to turn back to them and grin from ear to ear, "_if _you're serious, and _if _you _stay_ serious, I can play bass..." Alfred nearly bounced with excitement.

"Dude, when am I not serious?" he grinned, sitting up straighter in what Matthew recognized to be his 'Hero' pose, sitting version. Gilbert, apparently tired of sitting quietly (unlike Matthew, who would rather just listen to their conversation), threw a wadded up burger wrapper at Alfred.

"Well, I'm in for guitar," he offered with a smirk. "My awesome playing will make your band a thousand percent better. I'll even add in vocals, free of charge," he snickered.

Matthew knew that left Alfred for drums, and Arthur would probably insist on managing everything, being the perfectionist that he was. The Canadian wasn't sure how he felt about being left out of the band; on one hand he really had no talent, but on the other, he was always left out of things beyond their group. He was surprised when the other three turned to him for his contribution, waiting for him to pledge his allegiance to their band.

"Wh-what?" he tried to ask. It came out as more of a squeak than he intended.

"C'mon, bro, y'think I'm gunna let you get out of this?" Alfred teased, the last light of the sun reflecting off his glasses as he looked down from his perch. Matthew blushed faintly under the three pairs of eyes staring intently at him and glanced at Arthur, the most sensible of the other teens, for help.

"Come now, you're our friend," Arthur scoffed, able to guess his thoughts. "You must join us, it wouldn't be the same without you."

"I- I don't really- I can't do anything, really," Matthew protested fervently in his whisper-like tone.

"Lies!" Gilbert laughed. He smirked from where he sat directly across from Matthew as he spoke. "Matt's got a voice like a fucking songbird," he snickered, the compliment coming out as more of a jab than anything.

"Yeah, Matt, you gotta go on with us!" Alfred pressed. "You can be our lead!"

"I- I- I..." Matthew protested weakly. He couldn't possibly- the stage fright alone would be too much for him! He'd heard Gilbert singing in their Chorus class; he was a far better fit for the job. Surely they didn't really expect Matthew to go along... but they were all looking at him with expressions somewhere between being expectant and being smug.

"Higher voices are easier to separate from the guitars and drums, after all," Arthur reasoned. Matthew felt cornered. This really wasn't his sort of thing... but, maybe this would actually earn him respect. People would actually remember his name... The idea became slightly more appealing. Still, he hardly sang rock music; their Chorus class focused on classical training, and Matthew had always been partial to pop bands. He voiced these concerns and only received eye rolls as the sun finally set.

"Just say yes, dude," Alfred demanded, shifting so he could look out over the lake once the fireworks started.

"Ja, Birdie, don't be a party pooper," Gilbert added. Matthew sighed.

"I- I don't know... I think this is a bad idea," he murmured, preparing to give in.

"We'll look after you," Arthur promised as the first rocket went up. He'd always been like an elder brother to Matthew, and to Alfred even more so. Matthew sighed and nodded, the first red explosion reflecting off of his own glasses. Alfred let out a whoop, though whether it was due to Matthew's agreement or the beginning of the fireworks, Matthew couldn't tell.

The conversation was set aside temporarily in favor of watching the explosion of lights in the sky. The sounds were a bit louder than Matthew would have preferred, nearly making him flinch each time, but the colors were beautiful. Naturally, the show was dominated by reds, whites, and blues, but a few greens and yellows had been slipped in for variety's sake. Matthew could hear the excited shouts of the young children nearby; a few were running around the cars, but most were sitting on car hoods or in truck beds, squirming with excitement as the lovely lights painted the sky in American patriotism. Arthur often scoffed lightly at the exaggerated displays of rebellion, but he was hardly the only Brit by the lake that evening. Any excuse to watch things blow up in the middle of the dog days of summer seemed good enough for the townspeople. In a town like theirs, nationalism had very little place.

As the finale began, Matthew thought about this band they'd decided to start. He was obviously weakest link of the group. Trying to stay positive, he watched the frantic explosions and imagined hundreds of fans cheering his name, holding up signs with his name boxed in by hearts. People who knew him, and cared about what he did. That could be nice.

Or he could get stage fright and vomit on the front row.

* * *

**A/N: **First I want to say thank you very much for making it this far. I apologize for any grammar mistakes; I'm in desperate need of a beta. **[EDIT] I got one! Thank you so much Hornet394 for all your hard work! **This story of mine is going to be a long one, and the plot line's rather twisted. The intended, eventual, official pairings are USUK and PruCan, however life isn't all that black and white, so these four lovely boys aren't going to get off all that easy. There'll be AmeCan, and likely PruAme, and possibly mentions of past Germancest, and maybe past FrUk too, however the end results will be USUK and PruCan. Matthew's point of view won't be the only one, either; I believe chapter three will be Gilbert-centric, but we'll see.  
The plan is for there to be song lyrics at the beginning of every chapter that highlight said chapter's events, but hopefully the songs in their entirety will also apply to the story in general. Whether I can keep up those double meanings is yet to be seen, but I've got my fingers crossed.

I may be needing song writers in the future, if anyone wants to surrender their amazing talents to this poor girl who can't rhyme for shit.

I _really _need a beta. Does anyone volunteer as tribute? Pretty please? **[EDIT] Thanks again, Hornet394! I'm so grateful. **

Until then, please accept my terrible writing. Constructive criticism is very welcome here. Let me know what you think?

Translations for this chapter:  
Ja: German; Yes.

Thank you very much.

~VV


	2. Sleepless Nights, Reckless Mornings

_-And I promised myself that I'd do anything; anything at all for them to notice me-  
When I Grow Up; Pussycat Dolls_

_-Hetalia-_

The fifth of July never seemed to be memorable.

Most years, Alfred didn't even bother to leave his pajamas, or his bedroom for that matter, until dinner time. Even then he often came down the stairs clad in little more than Captain America boxers. Matthew had given up on the entire situation, but his mother still tried to convince her step-son to put on real pants at the very least. Sometimes she was successful. Most of the time Alfred just took his dinner back to his bedroom.

Matthew stumbled to the bathroom around ten thirty, positive that this year's fifth of July would be just like last year's as he turned on the shower and tried to wake up a bit more, waiting by the sink for the water to warm up. The four boys had been out a bit past curfew the night before, earning the lecture that followed the step-brothers' return, aimed mostly at Alfred, which had kept them both out of their beds for an extra hour. In all honesty, even the early bird Matthew would still be sleeping right now if it weren't for the alarm he had to prevent such things. He couldn't let himself fall into Alfred's summer circadian rhythm, after all, or he'd never be able to handle school when it came back in the fall. Alfred could pretend he was a vampire all summer long if that's what he wanted, but Matthew would rather stay in the mortal world, thank you very much.

The warm shower water worked diligently to wake the sleepy Canadian up once he stepped under its steady spray, but it was nothing in comparison to the sudden banging on the bathroom door that made Matthew drop the shampoo on his foot.

"Matt! Ma~att!" Alfred raised his voice over the sound of his own pounding as Matthew rubbed his poor toes and let out a pained hiss of "Maple!" under his breath. His soaked hair obscured his already blurry vision as he squinted towards the door.

"Wh-what, Al?" he called once the pain had begun to fade. The water all but drowned out his voice, but Alfred was used to his soft-spoken step-brother.

"Dude, so you are in there! Anyway, I called Gil and Iggy last night and we decided we should plan the band stuff today, so we're all meeting up at a restaurant for lunch in like an hour. Hurry up in there!"

Despite the injustice of having this information thrown at him whilst taking his morning shower, Matthew didn't bother complaining for several reasons. It wasn't in his nature, really, for one thing. Secondly, he knew that Alfred wouldn't have listened to him if he _did _point out that he hadn't had a say in the matter. Also, he knew that Alfred was already gone, the sound of his step-brother taking the stairs two at a time evidence enough of that. Matthew knew that Alfred must be on one of his sleepless-night-highs to be so energetic this early. In contrast, the Canadian was already beginning to feel drowsy, even under the warm spray of the shower that usually restored a bit of his energy.

It was going to be a long day for Matthew.

_-H-_

"A restaurant" turned out to be McDonald's, which only surprised Matthew because Arthur had agreed to this. The British teenager often scoffed at Alfred's eating habits, and for the eleven years Matthew had known him, Arthur had only eaten food from McDonald's four times, each one marked with several choice insults directed at whatever force led him into such a situation. Matthew wondered if perhaps Arthur had been too exhausted to form coherent strings of thought when they agreed to this. Perhaps it was better that Alfred hadn't bothered Matthew the night before. The Canadian was quite possibly the only one who got any sleep.

Matthew had to literally hop out of Alfred's pick-up truck in order to get his feet on the ground. The parking lot was rather crowded, but thus far Matthew had yet to see Gilbert's or Arthur's cars. Brushing a damp strand of hair out of his eyes, the youngest of their group followed Alfred inside and into the long line of hungry customers.

The air conditioning was a wonderful contrast to the humidity outside, though it made Matthew shiver a bit as cool air blew on his still damp hair. As always, Alfred ordered too much food for any normal human being once they finally made it to the cashier. Matthew tuned most of the world out, knowing that he'd just steal some of Alfred's extra food if he was really hungry, preferring to loose himself in his thoughts. He blindly followed Alfred's back as he became absorbed with thoughts about the animal shelter he volunteered at. He only snapped out of it when Alfred told him to watch the food as he went to fill a massive cup with soda.

They had to wait twenty minutes in their booth in the corner before Gilbert finally entered the building. The albino opted out of ordering food and came to sit straight across from Matthew, proclaiming that their party could begin now that his awesomness had arrived.

The next fifteen minutes before Arthur showed up were filled with debates over whether their English friend would even come, as well as a food fight of sorts that involved sugar packets and had left Matthew with ketchup in his hair. He brooded in the corner of the booth with a pile of napkins, trying to save himself from taking a second shower that day when Arthur finally decided to grace them with his presence.

"Iggy!" Alfred all but shouted in greeting. Several heads turned in alarm.

"Took you long enough," Gilbert remarked as Arthur slumped into the booth. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, but unlike Alfred, Arthur's survival instincts didn't seem to be filling him with reserved energy. He merely grunted in response and leaned forward to bury his head in his arms. Gilbert poked him as if he were checking to see if the Brit had died. Another grunt came from Arthur, muffled by the table.

"Dude, go buy a coffee," Alfred snorted. Arthur grunted at him, too, and peered over the tops of his arms.

"Let's just get through this so I can go back to my bloody bed, twat," he grumbled.

"Did you drive here?" Matthew wondered out loud. Arthur didn't seem to hear him.

"Ja, how are we going to do this?" Gilbert addressed Alfred. Matthew hardly even noticed his own question go unanswered as Arthur's face slid away from view once more.

"Okay, we totally need a place to practice," Alfred said, as though it wasn't obvious. Arthur groaned as if to say his place was out of the question the sound oddly similar to the noise the dogs at the shelter made when something annoyed them. Matthew frowned at the thought.

"West would kill us," Gilbert snorted, seeming delighted with the idea of such violence. Matthew still didn't know why the Ger-er, Prussian, called his younger brother 'West' (though when he first heard the nickname, he thought it was Vest, which made just as little sense.) He'd yet to get an answer out of anyone who acknowledged him when he asked about it. Matthew wasn't even sure if it was an endearing term or an insult. Gilbert both adored his brother and adored annoying him, from what the Canadian had seen.

"I don't need your kid brother snapping at me as well, thanks," Arthur dispelled Gilbert's plans of pestering Ludwig. "I've got enough of that at home."

"All right, I get it. You guys just totally want to chill at my house," Alfred grinned. No one bothered to correct him, unless Arthur's grunt counted as a protest. It sounded more like a signal of surrender. "We've got room in the garage, so you dudes don't have to worry," Alfred carried on.

"When will we practice?" Matthew interjected carefully. At first it looked like he'd been ignored, as Alfred continued ranting about how he and his garage would save the day. Arthur looked like he might have drifted off right on the table, while Gilbert had grown tired of poking the dead man beside him and spotted some poor unfortunate soul whose shirt hung just low enough for him to try to get bits of French fry in her cleavage. Matthew wondered not for the first time why he even bothered calling the people around him his friends.

"Ja, Birdie's got a point, when the hell are we going to actually do this?" Gilbert surprised him, his red eyes still focused on his goal as he took aim and threw another bit of fry. He burst into a fit of snickers when he hit his target.

Matthew wasn't sure how he should feel about his new nickname.

"Huh, should we do it like once a week, or twice or what?" Alfred asked, breaking out of his endless ramble. Arthur dragged himself back up off the table.

"I suppose it will depend on our free time. Naturally, more practice will mean faster improvement. But once the summer's over, we'll all be a fair bit busier. We won't even be going to the same school anymore."

Matthew glanced sideways at his step-brother. Arthur was the big brother to all of them, but he and Alfred were the closest. When Arthur graduated at the beginning of the summer, Alfred all but had a panic attack when it dawned on him that for the first time since Arthur moved into town some thirteen years ago, they wouldn't be living three blocks away from one another. Arthur's college was just a town over, but the difference was still enough to shake the American. It didn't look like Alfred was going to panic in the McDonald's, thankfully, but Matthew still kept a close eye on his step-brother.

"Yeah, but it's summer now dude," Alfred grinned. "So like twice a week then! Everyday would be better, but Dad's making me do shit." Matthew didn't bother pointing out the fact that Gilbert and Arthur both had jobs, as well as Matthew's volunteering work. The group had collectively given up on pointing things out to Alfred long ago.

"So Saturdays and Tuesdays, then," Arthur decided for them. "Those are the only days we have coinciding free time."

Alfred pouted a bit, looking annoyed that someone other than him had made the decision. Matthew sighed, knowing that his step-brother wouldn't be easy to appease after this. He wondered if bribing Alfred with left over birthday cake would be enough to keep him from moping for the rest of the day.

"Ja, sounds gut," Gilbert agreed with Arthur, hardly paying attention as he landed yet another fry, this one dipped in ketchup. Unfortunately for the four of them, the woman apparently had had enough of his game and got up, giving Gilbert a burning glare before stalking over to the counter to complain. Matthew felt his stomach sink as he recognized what was coming, his fears confirmed when the German/Prussian jumped to his feet.

"Time to go," Gilbert grinned, nearly shoving Arthur out of his way so he could ditch the booth before they were banned from the store for life. Alfred caught on just fast enough to make it out of the store before the manager was found. Arthur, too exhausted to act quickly, and Matthew, who had been trapped in the booth while Alfred tried to figure out what had happened, weren't as lucky.

By the time they'd looked at one another and begun running, the manager, a chubby, sweaty man with a look about him that said he was having none of anyone's shit, was in front of the counter and being pointed in their direction. The back door was three feet away when Matthew slipped in a puddle of what he prayed was Mountain Dew and fell on a 'Wet Floor' sign, Arthur tripping over him to add injury to injury. The now broken plastic sign dug into his ribs, and his head throbbed from where it had embraced the floor rather enthusiastically. He could hear laughter somewhere above him, but he was too focused on making sure he hadn't gotten a concussion from the crash to react. Arthur released his first appropriate groan that morning as a figure came to loom over them, hands on his hips. Rather than offer them a hand, he began shouting something that ended in their permanent banding from the store.

Arthur spat back that he was glad he was banned, since he wouldn't have to eat the slop they passed off as food anymore and was promptly dragged to his feet by his collar. Matthew pushed himself up off of the sign and sat in the sticky puddle, watching the argument miserably and wondering yet again why he associated himself with such juvenile delinquents. A very heated paragraph wrote itself in his head, addressed to Alfred for ditching them, another paragraph written for Gilbert as well while he watched the two above him shout in each other's faces.

Matthew didn't have long to brood, though, as Arthur began to show the same symptoms Matthew had seen before the British teen began fist fighting with Francis. Leaping up, concussion or not, Matthew just about tackled Arthur as he pulled back his fist for a punch. Swearing to the manager over Arthur's shouts that they would never step foot in the store again, Matthew dragged his so called friend out with a strength that came only from his years of hockey. After he saw Arthur forcibly to his car, Matthew's only thought was of his now soda filled hair.

It seemed he'd be taking a second shower anyway.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you once again for sticking with this story, or at least reading to the second chapter. I'm still without a Beta **[EDIT] Thanks again to Hornet394 for filling this role**, so any grammar or spelling mistakes are purely my own fault. This update is actually rather quick, I'm not usually this speedy, but I already had this chapter written, so I saw no reason for me to withhold it. The next chapter may or may not be a bit more angst-ish, I'm not sure yet. It will be Gilbert centric, and likely deal with Gilbert and Ludwig's relationship in this AU, so things might get a bit tense. We'll have to see, but I hope you look forward to it with me.

Translations for this chapter:  
Ja: German; Yes.  
Gut: German; Good.

_Note: Gilbert uses "Ja" when he means "Yeah," because they sound similar and he unconsciously slips back into German when the two words sound close enough. Hence his usage of "Gut," as well. He will say the word "Yes" rather than "Ja" even though those two words are closer than "Ja" and "Yeah." It's just a little headcanon of sorts. Please don't get too confused over it_.  
Constructive criticism is very welcome here. I'm also looking for a Beta **[EDIT] and I found one (I can never thank her enough)**, if anyone's offering. Until then, please accept my terrible writing.

Thank you very much.

~VV


	3. Nacht

_-When you love someone, but it goes to waste...-  
Fix You; Coldplay_

_-Hetalia-_

Things could have been worse.

Still, Gilbert grumbled as he pulled into the parking lot that night. He could see from his parking spot that the lights in their apartment were out. It was around seven thirty at night, meaning that not only had Ludwig refused to quit his job like Gilbert had urged, but he'd taken on an extra shift. _Again. _

Gilbert slammed the car door half-heartedly, rolling his eyes at the thought of his brother. Of course Ludwig didn't quit. He really should have expected that. It still annoyed him, though, and Gilbert made his way out of the cool night air and into the lobby of the building with a frown glued to his face.

"Mr. Beilschmidt?" Gilbert turned to see the Lithuanian receptionist waving him over tentatively.

"What's up, Toris?" Gilbert leaned over the desk, his usual smirk chasing away the frown. Toris smiled weakly, looking a bit nervous as he flipped through a little note book he'd pulled out of his pocket.

"Ludwig called from the restaurant," he explained as he searched for the message. He found it with a little "Ah," missing the falter in Gilbert's smirk. "He said to tell you he'd taken over Feliciano's shift, so he'll be back around nine. He also said not to burn the building down, though he may have been joking," Toris trailed off, uncertain. Gilbert rolled his eyes dramatically for the Lithuanian as he stopped leaning on the desk and turned towards the elevator.

"I'll be careful," he promised the receptionist as he left him fiddling with the little notebook. The ringing of the phone kept Toris from replying, and Gilbert could hear him giving room rates to the person on the line as the elevator closed.

Gilbert still referred to their room as an apartment purely out of habit now. Ludwig was old enough to realize that they lived in a hotel, and he was too old to pretend. It wasn't that odd, though. They'd gotten a good deal on the room, though Gilbert would never admit to Ludwig that he'd done some heavy duty bribing with the manager to get it that way. The rate they paid was almost like an apartment's rent, and they'd been able to stick together despite the fact that up until his last birthday, Gilbert wasn't legally old enough to be Ludwig's guardian.

_962_. The numbers were golden on the door, and Gilbert smiled as he fit his key into the lock. No matter what Ludwig said-or rather didn't say, because Gilbert could read his younger brother's thoughts even though he never complained-this was theirs. They weren't just staying in some hotel. This was their home.

The little yellow canary chirped a greeting to him before he'd even turned the lights on. Gilbert smirked as he shut the door behind himself, moving straight to the cage hanging from the ceiling.

"Hast du mich vermisst, Vögelchen?" he asked as he opened the little door for the bird to hop out onto his finger. He received a chirp for an answer and took it to mean yes.

"Komm, lass uns das Abendessen zu kochen," he added, setting the bird on his shoulder and making his way to the little kitchen area. They'd bought a little portable stove along with some other essential appliances as soon as they'd had the money, and in Gilbert's opinion, there was hardly a difference between a 'real' kitchen and theirs. It didn't matter the size of the stove, after all, so long as the wurst was good, right?

The canary flew about the room as Gilbert set to work making a meal for himself and his brother. He busied himself with forming meatballs as he tried to put together another argument in his head. Gilbert's job brought in enough money for their rent and their food, plus a bit extra, so long as they were careful. Ludwig was the younger brother, so it was Gilbert's job to take care of the both of them. Therefore, Ludwig shouldn't be working so much. Fool proof.

But Ludwig wouldn't listen to him, no matter what Gilbert said. It was irritating to say the least. Here Gilbert was, trying to be responsible and all that good shit, and Ludwig wouldn't have it. Gilbert grumbled to himself as he made a few more meatballs. Sometimes, when he got all sappy and kinda unawesome, he'd miss the days when Little Luddy would do whatever he was told, no questions asked. Nowadays Gilbert actually had to explain to newcomers that he was the elder of the two, not the other way around.

Gilbert huffed, more than a little annoyed now, and finished making the meatballs. He left them to cook, setting the little handheld timer so he wouldn't forget, and flopped down on his bed, bored. His first thought was to call someone and demand entertainment, but it was eight something now, so whomever he called would probably be busy and annoyed with him. Thus, there was only one real choice, and he smirked as he grabbed the hotel phone and dialed the number he'd memorized ages ago.

"Was ist los, Specs?" Gilbert taunted the moment he heard the Austrian's voice. Roderich already sounded irritated. _Perfect._

"Gilbert! I am in the middle of a pre-rehearsal," the brunet spat. Gilbert raised an eyebrow at the use of English from his fellow German-speaker.

"What the hell is a pre-rehearsal?" he snorted.

"If you _must _know, I am, or rather I _was _before you interrupted me, performing for my parents before tomorrow's orchestra rehearsal." That explained the English then, Roderich didn't want dear old German-speaking mom and dad understanding what he may have to say back to Gilbert. The Prussian just snickered, which made Roderich sigh on the other end.

"Is there an actual reason you called me, aside from your quest to make me tear all of my hair out, or should I redirect this call to Elizaveta?" Gilbert could practically hear the smirk in Roderich's voice as their mutual friend was brought into the conversation. As soon as she caught word of his attempts to irritate Roddy, she'd be clawing down Gilbert's door and threatening him with a frying pan. Gilbert liked his face the way it was, so he surrendered. Only temporarily, though, he assured his pride.

"Ja, Ja, whatever Specs. Go back to your xylophone or whatever," he rolled his eyes.

"Thank you," the Austrian huffed before the line clicked and the call was ended. Gilbert hung up and let out a groan of boredom. He scanned the room for something, _anything_, to do, before his crimson eyes landed on his prized electric guitar. He leapt from the bed and smirked as he plugged in the amp without a second thought. Tonight was a night for irritating neighbors, and he was certainly going to give it his all while his little brother wasn't around to stop him.

Besides, he had practice tomorrow. He needed to warm up.

_-H-_

Ludwig was home far earlier than Gilbert expected. The tall blond all but slammed the door and stomped over to Gilbert, yanking out the amp's chord and glaring down at his older brother.

"Hey!" Gilbert protested, clinging to the red and white guitar as Ludwig tried to wrench it from his hands.

"Nein, Gilbert!" was all he received in response as Ludwig gave him a sharp look and hurried over to the meatballs Gilbert had forgotten about. It was obvious none of them had survived the extreme over cooking, and Ludwig sighed as he tossed out the wasted food. Gilbert gently set down the guitar and slunk over to the kitchen area, knowing several things at once. First, Ludwig had exhausted himself with the extra shift. Second, they had no dinner as it stood now. Third, Ludwig was going to take it on himself to start cooking something, despite the fact that he looked ready to pass out. Gilbert frowned.

"Nein," he warned, nudging Ludwig away from the little stove. "Nehmen Sie eine Dusche oder so etwas," he commanded. Ludwig tried to protest, but Gilbert gave him a harsh look and the German surrendered, too tired to fight, apparently. Gilbert felt his brotherly power returning as Ludwig did what he was told without protest. Perhaps working too much had some benefits after all.

By the time Ludwig returned from his shower, Gilbert had begun cooking the new meatballs, making sure that this time he stood by so they wouldn't meet the same fate as their ancestors. The little canary chirped from where it sat on top of its cage, waiting for someone to let it back in.

"Bruder-"

"Ja." Ludwig's answer was clipped as he gave the bird what it wanted and Gilbert let out an irritated sound. It seemed there would be another fight after all.

Gilbert plotted his words as he moved the meatballs off of the stove and onto plates for them. Ludwig was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he sat down at their tiny table by the window, and Gilbert had to resist the urge to smirk. Placing a plate in front of his brother before taking his own seat, Gilbert asked a would be innocent question.

"Wie war die Arbeit?"

Ludwig lifted his head to glare at him. Gilbert returned the glare and took a bite of his meal.

"Fein." Ludwig was trying not to fuel the fight, but Gilbert was bent on arguing.

"Und Feliciano? Hat er seinen freien Tag genießen?" Ludwig gritted his teeth and refused to answer Gilbert, so the Prussian pressed on. "Ich habe dir gesagt, zu beenden, West." Ludwig flinched at the nickname and for a second Gilbert regretted using it. But only for a second, as Ludwig finally answered him.

"Wir brauchen das Geld."

"Nein, wir tun es nicht." Ludwig sighed and stood up from the table, leaving his half finished dinner behind. Gilbert stood up, angry at being ignored. "Ich verdiene genug!" Ludwig just crawled into bed and hid himself under the covers, refusing to take part in the fight. Gilbert had another protest on his tongue when Ludwig's voice came out muffled by the blankets.

"Gute Nacht, großer Bruder."

Gilbert frowned, nearly pouted, and crossed his arms, slumping back into his chair. "Ja, ja, gute Nacht," he grumbled, the rest of his argument dieing out. He still stuck firmly to his beliefs, though. Things could be much worse.

But they could be better, too.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you _very _much for braving through all that German! I am so sorry for that. It just doesn't make sense to me that two people whose first languages were German would speak to one another in English when it was just them. I think I hinted at that when Gilbert was surprised that Roddy was using English. About that, by the way. I know Germans learn English, but I don't know if Austrians do. For the sake of the story, please pretend that, at least at the time that Roderich's parents were in school in Austria, the schools did not teach English.  
If you speak German, I am very very sorry if I've butchered the lovely language. I don't speak German yet, so I had to use Google translate, and I know how much it ruins French (I speak some of that), so I'm sure this must be horrible. I tried to weed out most of the errors though by translating it back and forth, but it may still be all wrong.  
This chapter is kinda bleak. I'm sorry, but I needed to establish some things. Like the nickname bit, and their living status, etc. The next chapter will be back to the band things, with their first practice.

As for the song, this chapter is the first that's focused more on the relationships between characters, so this song is the first that applies less to the band and more to the relationships within the band. The double meanings theme is still going strong, and for those of you who like foreshadowing, I suggest you listen to the songs I reference, because they apply to so much more than just the people and the actions in any single chapter.

I still don't have a beta, so thank you very much for putting up with my terrible writings. I'll admit that this chapter wasn't as edited by me as the other two, so if you see any mistakes, _please _let me know! And thanks again for putting up with all that German. I'm very sorry.

**Translations for this chapter:** (I'm so sorry)  
Hast du mich vermisst, Vögelchen?: German; Did you miss me, little bird?  
Komm, lass uns das Abendessen zu kochen: German; Come on, let's cook dinner.  
Was ist los, Specs?: German; What's up, Specs?  
Ja, ja: German; Yes, yes. (_Note: Gilbert uses this to mean "Yeah, yeah,"_ _because he's speaking English, and the German just slips out. See note in Chapter 2)_  
Hey!: German; Hey! _(Note: Google translate says it's the same in German and English, but Gilbert is speaking German here.)_  
Nein, Gilbert: German; No, Gilbert.  
Nein: German; No.  
Nehmen Sie eine Dusche oder so etwas: German; Take a shower or something.  
Bruder: German; Brother,  
Ja: German; Yes.  
Wie war die Arbeit?: German; How was work?  
Fein: German; Fine.  
Und Feliciano? Hat er seinen freien Tag genießen?: German; And Feliciano? Did he enjoy his free day?  
Ich habe dir gesagt, zu beenden, West: German; I told you to quit, West.  
Wir brauchen das Geld: German; We need the money.  
Nein, wir tun es nicht: German; No we don't.  
Ich verdiene genug!: German; I earn enough!  
Gute Nacht, großer Bruder: German; Goodnight, big brother.  
Ja, ja, gute Nacht: German; Yes, yes, goodnight.

I'm so very sorry. If you've made it this far, thank you so much.

~VV


	4. Four in the Morning

_-It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift. The baffled king composing Hallelujah.-  
Hallelujah; Leonard Cohen_

_-Hetalia-_

They never did set a time.

To be fair, they had been a little too preoccupied with escaping the wrath of certain chubby managers, which may or may not have been Gilbert's fault, but the fact remained that no one knew when to show up. Thankfully, this thought occurred to Alfred.

At four in the morning.

Which Gilbert knew because the American, in a typical display of his oblivious tendencies, called the albino.

At four in the morning.

Alfred wasn't Gilbert's favorite person at four in the morning, to say the least. The good news was that the posh grunt he could hear over the line implied Arthur was in agreement with him. Unlike Alfred, they actually slept at night, or at least they did when the American wasn't calling them at, need he emphasize it further?, four in the morning.

It seemed this time Matthew was not exempt from the rude awakening either, as Gilbert could hear some mutterings in what was probably French in the background of Alfred's side of the three way call. Gilbert sympathized with the Canadian; his English wasn't available in this sleepy state either. Even Arthur's English was missing; apparently he had reverted to Caveman.

Of course, Alfred was talking a mile a minute too. Gilbert was pretty sure that the American was the only one who knew what was even being said in this one-sided three-way conversation. Vaguely Gilbert wondered just how many energy drinks the blond had consumed to be _this_ awake at _this_ hour. He focused on waking up, at least enough to communicate in English, rather than listening to what Alfred was rambling about. By the time silence had fallen, he was awake enough to ask a very important question.

"Do you have any fucking idea what time it is right now?"

The "Um..." he received was answer enough.

"It's fucking four in the fucking morning. What the fuck, Al?" Personally, he thought fuck was a very polite word, given the circumstances. He was only keeping his cursing to a minimum because he didn't want to wake up Ludwig. That, and his Vulgar English was still waking up. As much fun as it would be to cuss them all out in German, it lost its effect when they had no clue what he was saying.

"Oh right. Anyway, so what do you think?" Alfred waved aside the complaints as if _four in the fucking morning _was a perfectly reasonable time to hold this little press conference.

"I think you're a fucking vampire," Gilbert hissed.

"Je ne-er, I mean, I have no idea what you were saying a minute ago," Matthew's voice slipped over the line. It was a bit hard to hear because it was even quieter than usual. Gilbert could just picture Alfred blinking in confusion, completely unaware of the fact that he talked faster than was humanly possible. Arthur made a sound that might have been a snore and Gilbert was tempted to imitate him and just go back to sleep. Fuck Alfred and his fucking four am conference calls. If Gilbert knew when the hell it was the blond actually slept, he'd call him and rant in German just to see how he liked waking up to complete insanity.

"I _said_," Alfred started, and Gilbert actually heard him suck in the deep breath he'd need to start rambling, "I was sitting here thinking about what I'd have to move around in the garage for us to be able to practice in there and then I realized you guys will have to bring your own amps because we don't have any but we do have a mic and a stand because my parents used to sing karaoke when I was a kid before Mom ran off with that guy from the Philippines and actually I don't really remember it that much but I know where the mic is so we're good on that and my drum set's already in the garage 'cause that's the only place it'd fit so that's where we keep it and then I was thinking about how bands have their logos on the drums and I was thinking we should totally do that but then I remembered we don't have a logo and we don't even have a name yet and I thought why not and then I remembered we didn't get to that because we had to run out of the store because of the French-fry-boob-thing and I remembered that we didn't agree on a time for us to actually meet up here tomorrow so I thought I'd ask you guys and see when we're all free so we can get together and do this thing. So what time do you think is good?"

Gilbert was proud of the fact that he hadn't just hung up on the American and gone back to sleep. It took a lot of self-control to refrain from taking that course of action. Granted, he had tuned out most of the ramble about drum sets and Filipino heartbreakers, but he understood the question at the end.

"I don't care, as long as it isn't four am," he grunted.

"I'll be back from the shelter around noon," Matthew added with a yawn. Gilbert heard rustling and assumed the Canadian had curled back under the covers.

"One, then," Arthur said definitively and the click on the line announced his hanging up. That was that, then.

"Okay, so we'll start practice at one then?" Alfred tried to confirm. Rather than answering him, Gilbert just hung up.

It was four in the fucking morning for Christ's sake.

_-H-_

Nine in the morning wasn't much better.

As a matter of fact, nine in the morning sucked just as much ass as four in the morning, and Gilbert wasted no time in telling Ludwig so. Ludwig just told him not to make four am phone calls anymore if that was how he felt.

Heartless bastard.

The younger brother informed him that they were low on food stuffs, so he was stealing-he said borrowing but Gilbert knew better-his car to go shopping. Gilbert was expected to be awake when Ludwig returned so he could help carry in the groceries, and he wasn't to play his guitar because people were _sleeping._

Imagine that. Wanting to sleep at nine in the morning.

Gilbert wasn't really a big fan of irony. He was a fan of sarcasm, though. He decided to be the loving older brother and share some of his treasured sarcasm with Ludwig as the blond left the apartment. Ludwig didn't seem to appreciate it all that much. Not that Gilbert cared.

He was too busy falling back asleep.

_-H-_

The ringing of the phone woke Gilbert not long afterwards.

He assumed, at least, it hadn't been long, because Ludwig wasn't back yet, and it felt like he'd only slept for around three seconds, though it may have been four. Gilbert was starting to consider disconnecting the phone, if this was how he was going to be waking up from now on.

"Hallo?" he grunted as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes for the third time that day.

"Hello, Gilbert," Roderich's voice came over the line. Gilbert smirked.

"Booty calls are usually made at night, aren't they?" he taunted. He could just _hear _the Austrian getting all indignant. How entertaining.

"For your information, this is hardly a...call of that nature," Roddy hissed, and Gilbert could hear the sounds of people in the background. He was tempted to play 'make Specs say something vulgar in English and embarrass him in front of his peers,' but that game took a level of awake-ness that he didn't currently posses.

"Whatever kind of nature calls, you might wanna take that to a restroom, Priss," Gilbert taunted. Roderich made a rather entertaining sound.

"Would you just _listen _to me?" he demanded.

"Ja, ja, what is it already?" Gilbert rolled his eyes. He took a moment to get a glance at the clock and saw it was almost eleven. Ludwig would be back soon, then.

"Are you busy this afternoon?"

"So it's a preemptive booty call," Gilbert cackled.

"Gilbert!" Roderich hissed. "This is about Elizaveta."

"You're booty calling for her?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Honestly, Specs was just too easy to mess with. It almost took the fun out of taunting him. Almost. But not really.

"Her flight is tonight and she needs a ride. Can you take her or should I have called someone more reliable?"

Gilbert wasn't sure what Roderich was talking about for a minute or so, until he remembered a conversation the three of them had roughly a month ago.

"Oh, ja, her Polish boyfriend or whatever," he nodded. "What time does her Royal Demonic Highness demand a ride?"

"He's not her boyfriend," Roderich hissed. Gilbert snorted in response, nearly missing the added "They're just pen-pals." Roderich took a moment to clear his head from the irritation Gilbert was causing. "She needs to be there by eight tonight, and this is important, so please refrain from messing up for once."

"Ja, ja, eight or whatever. You're too busy playing with your keyboard to take her, right?"

"I have a rehearsal," Roddy said through gritted teeth. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'll take her, so calm your tits, Priss. Now about that booty call..."

"Goodbye, Gilbert," the Austrian said quickly before a click signified his hanging up. Gilbert shrugged and put the phone back, preparing to curl up under the blankets and get in a few more minutes of sleep.

Unfortunately, Ludwig saw that moment as his sign to return.

_-H-_

By the time twelve thirty arrived, Gilbert had given up on getting anymore sleep.

He ignored Ludwig's questions of "Wo gehst du hin? Wann wirst du wieder? Und warum nehmen Sie die Gitarre?" saying only "Ich nehme das Auto," as he grabbed his keys and left with the guitar and the amp.

Alfred lived far too far away for Gilbert's taste. It didn't help that the American's house was relatively close to the town's pool, either. The traffic stretched nearly the entire span of roads between the hotel and the Jones's home.

By the time he finally made it through the endless lines of families trying to find relief from the heat in a public bathtub, it was obvious by the sheer number of cars in the driveway that Gilbert was the last to arrive. The garage door was raising as he put his car into park, and soon Alfred could be seen, waiting for the albino to come in.

Arthur sat on a massive cardboard box labeled _Misc. _in messy handwriting, while Matthew was fidgeting with the cords of a microphone. Alfred pointed Gilbert to an outlet and went to the corner to press the switch that would shut the garage door once more.

Gilbert turned back to the others once he'd set up his amp and noticed Matthew shifting oddly.

"Hey, Birdie, what's up with you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He'd seen that kind of stance before from Alfred, generally after a rough fight with Ivan. There was no way Matthew had gotten into a fistfight with a Russian and a lead pipe, but clearly something had handed his ass to him.

"Wh-what?" Matthew blinked, meeting Gilbert's eyes. They stared at one another for a moment before Matthew apparently read his mind. He was good at figuring people out, as Gilbert had learned over the years. "O-oh, a new retriever we got," the Canadian confessed, unbuttoning his plaid shirt to reveal an ace-bandage-covered torso.

"Jeez, what the hell went down between you two?" Gilbert asked.

"Apparently, the dog thought Matthew smelled threatening," Arthur answered as Matthew re-buttoned his shirt.

"He just wasn't used to so many strangers," Matthew reasoned.

"You should have seen him when he got home," Alfred pitched in, coming to join them. "Seriously, dude, how did you walk home like that?"

"It wasn't that bad," Matthew mumbled.

"Your stomach looks like raw hamburger!"

"Everything looks like hamburger to you," Arthur interjected. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I hope it doesn't scar, though," Matthew murmured, shifting uncomfortably to try and find a position that didn't sting so much.

"Nah, you'd look awesome with a few scars," Gilbert smirked.

"I-I don't think so," Matthew mumbled, a weak smile forming on his face just the same.

"Alright dudes, band practice is officially in session," Alfred all but shouted. Arthur stood up from his box and Gilbert slipped his guitar strap over his shoulder. Matthew fidgeted with the microphone's cord again.

"First things first, what are we gunna call ourselves?" Alfred wondered out loud. The four boys looked back and forth between themselves. No one seemed to have a good answer.

"W-well, what do we have in common?" Matthew prompted softly.

"We're all dudes," Alfred said, while Gilbert offered the slightly less obvious "We're all awesome."

"None of us can get any sleep so long as we're acquainted with Alfred," Arthur smirked and Alfred laughed lightly.

"We're all from different countries," Matthew offered weakly. Arthur excused himself to answer his phone, stepping a bit away from them.

"Gil and I both like eagles," Alfred said, biting his lip as he thought.

"We're not the same ages, and Matt's a virgin," Gilbert added, only able to spot their differences.

"H-hey, what does th-that have to do with anything!" Matthew protested, flushing bright red. "A-and Al is too!" Gilbert waved him off as Arthur's phone call turned into a heated argument of some kind.

"What's your bet, Gil?" Alfred asked with a nod to the angry Brit. Gilbert watched Arthur's expressions for a moment before answering.

"Scot."

"I'm voting Liam," Alfred replied, watching Arthur become progressively angrier. Finally the blond hung up with a huff and shoved his cell into his pocket.

"Wh-what was that about?" Matthew asked gently. Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Scot called to harass me about something stupid," he frowned. Gilbert smirked at Alfred, the 'I told you so' evident in his eyes while Arthur muttered "Damn half-brothers," under his breath.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, West's been a real pain in the ass lately too," Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"That's it!" Alfred shouted. Matthew jumped a little at the sudden sound, and Gilbert snickered at him.

"What is?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"We've all got problems with our brothers," Alfred explained. Matthew gave Alfred a confused look before realization spread across his features.

"Oh, you mean with Carlos?" he asked.

"Yeah, the guy keeps smacking you 'cause he can't tell us apart. Idiot," Alfred muttered as an after thought.

"So, what, we call ourselves "The Awesome Dudes with Brother Related Problems?" Not really all that catchy," Gilbert snorted.

"Perhaps, but what about something that sounds a little edgier?" Arthur offered. The other three stared at him in confusion.

"Like...what, exactly? Did you come up with a name while Scot was shouting at you?" Alfred asked.

"...Complex?" Matthew guessed, a smile starting to spread across his face. Alfred looked between Arthur and Matthew, completely lost, as per usual. Gilbert, however, was starting to get it.

"Brother Complex? Sounds kinda twisted."

"Which makes it perfect, doesn't it?" Arthur smirked.

"So, our name will be Brother Complex?" Alfred began to catch up.

"Ja, gotta problem with that?"

"Nah, I think it's good," Alfred grinned. "Brother Complex it is."

"Right, now that that's solved, we have a few more things to work out, you know," Arthur said.

"Like what?"

"Well for one, who will be writing our songs. Can any of you even write lyrics, or compose music?"

"I can," Gilbert and Alfred answered in sync.

"Er, no offence, Alfred, but I think I'd rather leave that up to Gilbert." Alfred huffed and crossed his arms, a pout beginning to form. Matthew bit his lip.

"Al, you can do our posters and logo design, eh?" he offered, trying to appease the American. Alfred brightened up considerably.

"I suppose I'd be the best one of us to manage the band as a whole," Arthur added. Matthew nodded in agreement.

"So now we need songs, right?" Alfred grinned.

"I've got a few unfinished pieces," Gilbert offered. "We could use them for the band and work on them now, if you want." The others nodded in agreement and moved to their respective instruments. Gilbert began playing a few chords he'd put together.

"Hold on, start that again," Arthur instructed after a moment. Gilbert began again and Arthur added in his own notes. Alfred picked up a beat and the four of them grinned as a song began to form in their midst. Matthew started humming along with the music, softly at first, slowly gaining confidence, and before Gilbert knew it, the shy Canadian was stringing together words and writing a chorus out of thin air. It was a fairly good one, too.

Watching the others work together with him in harmony, Gilbert noticed this was the freest he'd seen any of them in a long time. He'd actually never seen Matthew let loose the way the blond was now. He was even dancing just a little bit, swaying to the music and adding in a few steps of his own. It seemed he was a natural lead after all.

Gilbert couldn't wait to get that kid on a stage.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I apologize for that ending. That was really just bad. I'm so sorry. I still don't have a beta, so I can only do so much. This chapter's nearly twice as long as all the others, if that makes up for the ending (and the German in the last one...). Plus there's some legitimate basis for that M rating now, and not just the promise of future escapades. -It's possible I'm just having too much fun writing Gilbert. Ahaha ha ha...sorry.-  
That song was really hard to pick, but I hope I made the right choice. I think I spent more time searching for a song than I did writing.  
I can _almost _get through Alfred's massive run-on paragraph in one breath. Almost.  
As for Elizaveta's Polish pen-pal/boyfriend (whichever you want to believe), there's historical basis for that. 1000 years of it, actually. I promised allegories, after all. This is only the beginning.  
Is Gilbert suggesting booty calls to taunt Roddy, or does he have his own basis for those claims? (I don't know either.)  
Finally, about Scot and Liam. I don't know if those are the widely accepted names for those two (are they even official characters? /shot), but they're the ones I've found. Well actually, Scot's his nickname, from what I've gathered, but I assume the guys here would use it too.

It's four am right now where I am. This pleases me.

Translations for this chapter:Je ne-: French; I d- (_Note:_ _Matthew was about to say 'Je ne sais pas,' but he corrected himself into English. 'Je ne sais pas,' is French for 'I don't know,' but to make things negative in French, you need both ne and pas, rather than just the 'not' in 'do not' for English, so there isn't really a literal translation for Je ne.)_  
Hallo?: German; Hello? (_Note: Prussia says Hallo instead of Hello anyway, so he was intending to answer in English, as the hotel phone doesn't have caller ID and he couldn't have known it was a fellow German speaker on the line.)_  
Ja, ja: German; Yes, yes (_see previous notes on Gilbert's usage of Ja)_  
Ja: German; Yes. (_Again, see previous notes on Gilbert's usage of Ja)_  
Wo gehst du hin?: German; Where are you going?  
Wann wirst du wieder?: German; When will you be back?  
Warum nehmen Sie die Gitarre?: German; Why are you taking the Guitar?  
Ich nehme das Auto.: German; I'm taking the car.  
Note: The German translations may be worse than usual. When I sent it through the second time it looked a little garbled. I'm sorry if I've ruined the language. Someone please correct me.

I really ought to sleep now, so thank you very much for reading this story. I hope you're enjoying it.

~VV


	5. Blood

_-And I'll take you gladly, and I'll take you in again.-  
She's a Lady; Forever the Sickest Kids_

_-Hetalia-_

The shrill beep of a microwave sliced through the night air.

Alfred quickly opened the door before the machine could make anymore noise. He pulled out the piping hot bag of popcorn carefully and shut the microwave, causing its display to revert back to the time of night. It was a bit after two, apparently. Not that it really mattered to Alfred. This popcorn was going to be his lunch of sorts anyway, along with the coke he pulled out of the fridge. There were still a few old fashion glass bottles left, he noted with a grin before making his way back to his bedroom.

As he set the bottle down on his desk, its condensation already wetting his hand in the thick heat of the July night, a soft knock came from just behind him. Alfred looked over his shoulder to see Matthew standing stiffly beside the half open door, hugging himself. As Alfred opened his mouth to ask Matthew what was up, his cell phone went off from its place on the bed.

Alfred stared at it in confusion for a long moment as the Doctor Who theme continued to play. Arthur had to have gone to bed by now; he was always complaining about Alfred waking him up, and he'd told Alfred today after their band practice not to call him in the middle of the night.

"Isn't that Arthur?" Matthew prompted. Alfred nodded, moving to the bed to pick up the phone. "It's probably important," Matthew pointed out. Alfred answered the phone with a confused "Hello?"

"Hello, Alfred," Arthur responded. He sounded a bit defeated.

"What's up, dude? It's like..." Alfred looked around his room for a clock.

"Two seventeen," Matthew told him. Alfred repeated the numbers to Arthur as he nodded his thanks to Matthew.

"I know," Arthur said. He sighed and began to say something, but stopped himself. Alfred frowned and glanced over at Matthew.

"Shit, Matt! Dude, what happened?" he asked, spotting the bit of red hidden behind the Canadian's arms. Rushing over to his brother and all but forgetting about Arthur, he pushed aside Matthew's arms to get a better look at the dark red stain on his bandaged torso.

"What? What's going on, Alfred?" Arthur asked, his tone completely changed.

"I-I'm fine, I just tore it back open, I think," Matthew protested, biting his lip.

"Alfred? What's going on?" Arthur pressed again.

"Matt's bleeding again. Hold on, I'll put you on speaker." Alfred quickly pressed a button and set the phone on the desk beside the bottle of soda before motioning for Matthew to come into the room. The Canadian carefully shut the door behind himself as he followed Alfred into the room, his movements very stiff, as though every step hurt.

"How bad is it?" Arthur asked.

"I can't really tell through the bandages," Alfred murmured, leaning down to inspect the blood stain.

"We should probably rewrap it," Matthew mumbled, staring down at the base of the desk for some reason. Alfred dismissed it, deciding instead to go grab the first aid kit again.

"Be back in a sec," he said before he left the room. He made a quiet dash for the bathroom, hoping his parents wouldn't wake up. Matthew had already asked him not to tell them, because if they knew then there would be no way in hell they'd let him continue volunteering at the shelter. Alfred found the first aid kit right where he'd left it, where he always left it, and hurried back to Matthew.

"...hurt then," Matthew was telling Arthur when Alfred came back in the room.

"Alright, I got the stuff," he announced as he shut his door once more. Matthew nodded, staring at the floor again, and turned so Alfred could reach the bandages better.

"Let me know how bad it is," Arthur said. Alfred nodded and knelt in front of Matthew, his face in front of the younger's stomach. Matthew hissed a bit as Alfred began peeling away the wrappings. Slowly the gashes from the retriever's teeth became visible, and Alfred hissed at the sight. Matthew was gritting his teeth as the air hit his wounds.

"It looks worse than it did this morning, Matt," Alfred pointed out.

"How bad is it?" Arthur pressed.

"It looks like raw hamburger," Alfred insisted. "And it's all bruised now," he added as he pulled away the last of the soiled bandages. Matthew made a pained face, wincing a bit as he looked down at his bare torso.

"Is it worse than that time you rode your bike down the hill behind the school?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah. It looks pretty bad, dude. You might need to go to a doctor," Alfred said, meeting Matthew's eyes.

"I-I'll be okay," Matthew said through gritted teeth, gripping the edge of Alfred's desk tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "I've had worse from hockey accidents and things..."

"Well you had better wash the wound, at least," Arthur instructed them. Alfred nodded again.

"Yeah, c'mon Mattie," he said gently, picking up the first aid kit and the phone, "I'll help you," he added as he pulled open the door. Matthew gnawed on his lip with every movement he made as they slowly made their way to the bathroom down the hall. Alfred opened the door and let Matthew go in ahead of him. Setting the kit and the phone on the sink counter, Alfred shut and locked the door behind them as Matthew made his way to stand beside the tub.

"I think you're gunna have to take off your pants, or they'll get soaked," Alfred said as he looked around for a washcloth.

"...I can't bend over enough," Matthew confessed, "it hurts too much when I do."

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" Arthur asked from the sink as Alfred stepped forward to help his brother out of his pants. Even just stepping out of them made Matthew wince.

"I'm sure," he managed. Arthur sighed while Alfred helped Matthew over the edge of the tub.

"I'd expect a stubborn decision like that from Alfred, not you," Arthur scolded him. Alfred found a washcloth finally and wet it with a little warm water.

"Let's wash the dry blood and stuff away first," he said gently, stepping into the tub to stand as close to his brother as possible. Matthew braced his arms against the walls as he stood in the corner and prepared himself for the pain.

"A-Ah!" he yelped when Alfred began.

"I'm sorry, Mattie," Alfred apologized. They spent several minutes like this, Matthew trying to hold back sounds of pain as Alfred cleaned the wound as best as he could, apologizing repeatedly. It seemed everything he did caused his brother a lot of pain, and Alfred could almost feel it himself. Finally he'd washed away all that he could and Matthew let out a shaky sigh as Alfred stepped back out of the tub, turning to the kit.

"Is there a particular reason you refuse to get medical attention? I suppose Alfred knows a fair bit about treating these things after all the fights he's been in, but still, he's hardly a professional."

"I-it's because of my mom," Matthew said in a strained voice. He had tears in the corners of his eyes and his breathing was uneven. Alfred found the Neosporin and reread the label on the back even though he used it enough to know what to do.

"Your mum?" Arthur asked.

"Sh-she wouldn't let me go b-ah-back if she knew," Matthew forced out. Alfred pulled the towel off of the rack and stepped back into the tub. He leaned down and carefully dabbed at the water left from the washcloth, biting his lip as Matthew hissed in pain.

"I'm sorry, Mattie," he repeated. Matthew just shook his head, a tear trailing down his cheek. Alfred pulled back and squeezed a bit of the ointment on his finger. "This'll sting for a sec but then it goes numb, okay?" he said gently. Matthew took a shuddering breath and held it, nodding for Alfred to go ahead. Alfred could hardly stand to hear Matthew's whimpers as he applied the Neosporin, but thankfully it was quick work. Soon Alfred was stepping out of the tub again to get the bandages and Matthew as leaning against the wall, trying to steady his breathing.

"Just how much blood have you lost?" Arthur asked. "You don't feel dizzy or anything, do you Matthew?" Matthew only shook his head, so Alfred answered for him.

"No, it wasn't really all that much. It's mostly bruises I think," he added as he returned to his brother's side and began dressing the wound. Matthew's pained sounds were quieter now, and his breathing began to even out.

"There, all set, Mattie," Alfred said when he'd finished. "C'mon, let's get you back to your room," he said, helping Matthew back out of the tub and into his pants. Matthew took a steadier breath and bit his lip as he looked up at Alfred for a moment.

"Do you...is it okay if we just go to yours?" he asked tentatively. He looked like a kicked puppy, and after all the pain he'd caused the poor boy, Alfred couldn't have said no if he wanted to. Plus, Alfred's room was closer, and Matthew probably needed to just lay down and sleep now and try to heal.

"Sure, whatever you want, Mattie," he smiled, picking up his cell, unlocking the door, and pulling it open. Matthew slowly made his way out as Alfred put away the first aid kit and turned off the light. Using his phone to light the way, Alfred led Matthew back to the bedroom.

"Need help getting into the bed?" he asked as he shut the door behind his brother.

"N-nah, I can do that much," Matthew smiled weakly. He gingerly set himself down on the bed and dragged himself over to the pillows before laying down. Alfred turned the lights off and shut his laptop, putting it in sleep mode, before getting on the bed beside Matthew and tucking the younger in. Matthew was already falling asleep when Alfred pulled his glasses off his face and set them on the night stand.

"I think he's asleep," Alfred said to Arthur, switching off the speaker mode.

"Will he really be okay?" Arthur asked. Alfred shrugged and leaned against the wall, running his hands gently through the boy's hair.

"I guess. I mean, he _has _had some pretty bad bruises from hockey fights before. He just needs to heal, I think." He could hear Arthur shifting over the line and suddenly remembered that it was the middle of the night. "Hey, why'd you call anyway, Iggy?"

"Remind me why you call me that?" Arthur sighed, dodging the question. He suddenly sounded exhausted, and Alfred was pretty sure it wasn't just because of the nickname.

"'Cause you're English, and Eng-gy sounds pretty weird." Arthur made a sound that might have been a chuckle or a sigh. "So really, what's up?" This time Alfred was sure it was a sigh he heard over the line.

"Before I called you, I'd just hung up with Francis," Arthur began. Alfred could tell this was going to be pretty serious, and his hand came to a stop on the Canadian's head as he focused all his attention on Arthur.

"What happened?"

"We had another fight," Arthur said lightly. They had a weird relationship, from what Alfred had been told. If they weren't going at each other's throats they were just plain going at it, and Alfred was hard-pressed to keep track of whether they hated or loved one another on a particular day.

"What about?"

"It was something stupid," Arthur said, making the sound that was either a sigh or a chuckle again. "It's just..."

"Yeah?"

"I..I'm fairly sure this was the last time." Alfred frowned. They fought all the time over stupid things. Why would this be any different?

"What do you mean?" He heard Arthur take in a slow breath, releasing it in a long sigh.

"You know that girl, Jeanne? She was in our year?" Alfred nodded, remembering the previous senior. He'd only seen her and heard about her, of course, but he had a good idea of what she was like. He wasn't sure what Arthur was getting at, though.

"Yeah. What's she got to do with it?"

"...He seemed rather serious about her," Arthur muttered. He sounded completely defeated.

"Wait, what are you saying?" Alfred frowned. Arthur sighed.

"He's found someone else, Alfred. It's really over this time."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," Arthur muttered. Alfred couldn't think of much to say.

"I'm sorry, Arttie."

"Yeah, so am I."

"Hey, don't let him get to you, okay? If he's moved on, then you can too, right?" Alfred tried to cheer him up. Arthur made the sound he made when he was smiling despite himself, and Alfred knew he was on the right track.

"I suppose. We were close, though, despite the fights." Alfred tried not to snort at that. "It's childish, but I feel as though I won't be able to find that kind of closeness with anyone else."

Alfred got the craziest idea.

"Hey, what do you want out of a relationship, Iggy?"

"Huh? ...Well, I suppose I expect companionship. I want to be in love with someone I can call my best friend. But, doesn't everybody?" he mused. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, it's a pretty normal thing. Psychologically we all want acceptance or whatever, right?"

"Yes. But if we all want that, why bother asking me?" Arthur sounded a little suspicious. Alfred grinned.

"Well, I have to go, I don't wanna keep talking to you and end up waking up Mattie. He's kinda a light sleeper. But I'll answer that before I go, if you want."

"Skip the games and just answer me, Alfred," Arthur sighed. Alfred's grin widened.

"All I'm saying is, if you wanna date your best friend, why don't you date your best friend?" Arthur was smart. He'd figure out what Alfred meant. Probably. Hopefully. Probably.

"...Are you...asking me out?" Arthur asked. Alfred's courage started to slip away at an alarming rate.

"Eh...yeah, but you can get back to me on that," he said cheerfully. "I'm gunna go now. Night!" He hung up before he could give Arthur a chance to say anything else.

Alfred let out a breath, feeling his heart pounding. He set his phone down on the nightstand next to Matthew's glasses and took his own off as well before he slid down to lay next to his brother, despite the fact that it was only about three thirty in the morning.

Wrapping his arm around Mattie, Alfred forced himself to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much! I've been getting a few reviews now and they make me very happy. I'm so glad to hear you guys like this story! I love it when I open my email and find several new followers and favorites. I'm glad I can make you guys happy with this messy little story. Well, it's not all that little, actually.  
I had to choose between Doctor Who and Sherlock for Arthur's ringtone, but I decided that Doctor Who, being an older show, would be deeper embedded in the character of England, so naturally his human self would be partial to Doctor Who.  
For the purpose of this story, Jeanne d'Arc is the same age as England and France. I'm sure I don't have to point out how inaccurate that is, but she's a minor character anyway, so please excuse me for that. It _is _an AU, after all. This split between Arthur and Francis is sort of an allegory for the Hundred Years' War. I'm not actually sure if I ship Jeanne and France to be honest. It doesn't matter all that much, though.  
Dogs can be very dangerous. I adore them, please understand that. I've received many wounds from them, though. Only one nearly as bad as Mattie's, though. I had to have six stitches in my lips. It was Chirstmas Eve, too. ...Jack Russels make me nervous now...

Translations for this chapter:  
I don't think there are any this time around.

This chapter is un-beta'd. However, I may have found a beta at last. We'll have to see, but for now, please accept my poor writing.

Thank you so much.

~VV


	6. Pet Names

_-And time will make fools of us all.-  
All That You Are; Goo Goo Dolls_

_-Hetalia-_

Alfred danced with a stuffed hamburger.

The July heat made the bedroom sweltering hot, as Alfred had forgotten to turn on his fan before he'd gone to sleep. A not-so-thin layer of sweat coated his brow when he woke up next to a still sleeping Matthew, and his bangs clung to his face. Alfred reached for his glasses on the nightstand and first found Matthew's pair, which he realized when the world became twice as blurry after he put them on. Trying again, Alfred found his own pair and slid out of bed carefully, so as to leave his brother undisturbed. Once he'd set the fan to its highest setting, and spent a good twelve minutes or so with his face nearly pressed against the whirling blades, he turned back to the nightstand, his eyes falling on his cell phone.

Would Arthur have texted him his answer? Would he even have an answer yet? Alfred was beginning to regret what he'd blurted out the night before. It felt right then, but, was it _really_ a great idea to ask someone out right after they broke up with someone they'd been so close to? Francis probably knew Arthur better, after all. They'd had many classes together over the years, being the same age...

"Come on, this is totally un-heroic," Alfred scolded himself, snatching up the cell. He pressed a button to pull it out of sleep mode and saw there were two messages, both from Arthur. He opened the earliest one. One word stared at him. He stared back.

"Yes."

Alfred continued to stare at the word. The word stared back. Neither one of them blinked for the longest time.

And then Alfred let out a whoop and began dancing around his room with his trusty pal, McBurger.

A small noise came from the bed as Alfred did some kind of cross between a Fox Trot and the Charleston (in all honesty, _he_ didn't even know what he was doing.) With a quiet groan, Matthew lifted himself up on his elbows and stared at Alfred in confusion. Alfred danced his way back to the bed, handing Matthew his glasses and grinning like a drunken moron. After a long, quiet moment, in which Matthew blinked at least twenty times, the silence was broken.

"...Um...Al?"

"Yeah, dude?"

"...why are you so happy?"

In response, Alfred handed Matthew his cell and danced back across the room while Matthew pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"W-wait, what about Francis?" Matthew asked. Alfred spun around, still dancing to a song only he could hear.

"They broke up last night, apparently." Matthew looked a bit uncomfortable, but Alfred couldn't tell if he was unnerved by how happy he was, or if he was just in pain from his injury.

"And he just...asked you out?" Matthew frowned. "That doesn't really...seem like Arthur," he trailed off.

"Nah, man, I asked him out. But he said yes!" Alfred stopped his erratic movements to stand in his favorite hero pose, grinning so wide his face was beginning to hurt. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the forgotten bag of popcorn and the soda from the night before as Matthew looked back down at the phone and pressed a few buttons. Alfred just watched him, not caring if Matt went through his phone. He was still waiting for the Canadian to smile up at him and say "That's great, eh?" or something. He got ready for it when Matthew looked back up at him.

"Did you see this?"

Alfred deflated a little.

"Dude, you're totally failing at the worshiping little brother role," Alfred complained, pouting a bit as he came to see what Matthew was talking about.

"O-oh, sorry," Matthew said sheepishly. "I'm happy for you," he added. It sounded a little weird, the way he said it, but Alfred shrugged it off and took the phone to look at the picture message Arthur had sent earlier that morning.

A flyer was taped up in a store window, advertising an amateur band competition that would be held in two weeks to raise money for the local fire department. Arthur had added a few words to the message.

"This is why I'm the manager. Tell Gilbert for me."

Alfred grinned and looked at Matthew.

"Dude, this is _perfect!_" Matthew smiled back at him and nodded a little.

"Yeah, it looks like a good place for our first gig," he said. "You should call Gilbert and let him know," he added. Alfred nodded and pressed a speed dial button.

"Hey, Gil, guess what!"

_-H-_

Matthew was lounging on the couch, reading a book, when Alfred came into the living room.

"What do you think?" he asked, spreading his arms to give his brother a good look. Matthew looked him over for a long moment before finally commenting.

"I think Arthur will complain."

"Aw, what?" Alfred whined. Matthew gave him an apologetic smile.

"Arthur complains about everything." Alfred stared at his brother for a moment. Matthew was giving him a weird look. It almost looked...sly? But, this was Mattie. Sweet, innocent, wouldn't hurt a speck of dirt Mattie.

"Dude, did you just...tease me?" Matthew flushed a little and looked down at his book.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Al. That was mean."

Alfred burst out laughing.

"Man, we're rubbing off on you," he grinned. Matthew smiled slightly and looked down at the leg of the nearby coffee table, turning a bit redder.

"I-I guess. But you look fine, Alfred. I'm sure it won't matter to Arthur, anyway. You've been friends for years." Alfred grinned and nodded.

"'Kay, be back later. Keep your mom outta my room," he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the door.

"I will," Matthew assured him. Alfred made his way to his truck, checking his pockets again just to be sure he hadn't left anything. Satisfied that everything was accounted for, Alfred hopped into the driver's seat and went to meet Arthur.

It barely took anytime to drive to Arthur's house, and Alfred was there before he had time to even think about being nervous about their first date. Parking on the curb, Alfred hopped out of his truck and made his way towards the door. Before he'd reached the step, though, Arthur pulled open the door and came outside. Alfred grinned and waved to him, though the Brit had already seen him. Arthur smiled and walked across the lawn to meet him.

"Hello, Alfred."

"'Sup, Iggy," Alfred grinned, turning to walk side by side with Arthur to the truck. Alfred hesitated by his door, not sure if Arthur would expect him to open his door for him or something, but Arthur walked around the front of the truck to his door and opened it without a complaint, so apparently not. Alfred quickly pulled open his door and climbed in, working as fast as he could to turn the car on and get the air conditioning back in action. The July heat hadn't let up in the few days that had passed since Arthur called in the middle of the night. If anything, it was hotter than before.

"Do you know the way?" Arthur teased lightly as they buckled in and Alfred began to drive them away from Arthur's house.

"Uh, where are we going again?" Alfred teased back.

"The hospital if you're driving," Arthur grinned. Alfred turned a corner and rolled his eyes.

"Well if you feel that way, feel free to jump ship."

"I suppose it would be jump truck."

"You know what I meant."

"You should say what you mean."

"You should mean what you say."

"You shouldn't quote Alice in Wonderland. And I mean that," Arthur smirked. Alfred snorted.

"Only you would have Alice in Wonderland memorized enough to recognize a quote from it, dude."

"I wasn't the one who quoted it, though." Damn. Alfred couldn't think of a response to that. But he sure as hell wasn't going to let Iggy win!

"Yeah, whatever," he shrugged.

"Are you conceding a victory, Alfred?" Arthur mock gasped. Alfred grinned.

"Nah, I'm just being the bigger man and walking away."

"Don't you dare try to sound all responsible now; that's my job," Arthur threatened. Alfred started laughing, causing Arthur to chuckle a bit as well. They'd reached their destination anyway, and the conversation was dropped when Alfred parked the truck.

"Ready?" Alfred asked as he unbuckled.

"Yeah," Arthur nodded before getting out of the truck. Alfred followed suit and walked along side Arthur to the little cafe on the corner.

The cafe was blessedly cool, a godsend compared to the heat wave raging outside. Alfred and Arthur sat at a table in the corner and ordered small sandwiches when the eager waitress asked what they'd like.

As Arthur took a sip from his glass of water, Alfred shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to chat with Arthur, but now that they were dating and actually inside the cafe, thinks felt different. They were on a date, which meant he had to remember that certain behaviors were 'inappropriate' according to the Brit. Normally he'd just ignore that, but he kinda wanted there to be a chance of a second date, so yeah, he should probably try to 'behave.'

Alfred looked around the cafe, trying to find the words to start a conversation, when a couple walked past their table, the girl clinging to the guy's arm and giggling softly. Alfred cringed.

"I agree," Arthur said, surprising Alfred.

"Huh?" he asked as he looked at the blond, who was grimacing.

"I'm not a big fan of the lovey dovey, sweetums and swatums routine either," Arthur explained. Alfred laughed.

"Yeah, it's kinda gross."

"Rest assured I won't be giving you any sickening pet names anytime soon," Arthur smirked.

"Wouldn't want you to," Alfred returned the smirk, "Pumpkin." The look Arthur gave him was the polite and civilized equivalent of shouting "Oh, it is _on_!"

"Will there be anything else?" the waitress asked a moment later as she handed them their plates. Alfred didn't fail to notice the wink sent in his direction. A glance at Arthur told him it had been just as obvious from the other side of the table, and he grinned at Arthur, waiting to see how he'd react.

"I don't believe so," Arthur answered her politely. "Can you think of anything else you might need, Teddy Bear?" Alfred couldn't hold back a snort and just shook his head as the girl left, looking a bit embarrassed. Arthur grinned in a way only Arthur could. Alfred had seen that grin every time they had been about to get into major trouble as kids, and he loved it.

"That wasn't very polite, Cupcake," he mock-scolded, picking up his sandwich.

"I have no idea what you mean, Jelly Bean," Arthur lied before taking a bite. Alfred made a face at the awful name and Arthur smirked, clearly thinking he was winning.

"So anyway, how was work, Shnookums?" Alfred smirked as Arthur nearly choked on his sandwich. The look he received when Arthur recovered was nothing short of evil.

"Oh, it was quite lovely, Poopsie."

_-H-_

That they made it through lunch without choking, or being kicked out of the cafe for laughing so loudly, was a miracle. The names didn't stop at the door; they were both too eager to out do the other. Alfred knew they were playing hard ball when names like Cutie Patootie and Boo Boo Bear reared their hideous heads.

Half a mile away from Arthur's house, Alfred got an evil idea. He was going to win this thing, damn it. Turning on the radio to a station he knew no one around town listened to, he grinned mysteriously at the confused look Arthur gave him and waited. As the song ended and the station host gave out the request number, Alfred pulled out his cell phone, his grin widening as Arthur realized a few seconds too late what he was up to.

"Hello, you're on air with us here at HETA 20.5. What would you like to request?" the host greeted him. Arthur looked torn between pissing himself in laughter and strangling Alfred with his own intestines.

"Hi, I'd like to request Every Breath You Take by The Police for my precious Yum Yums."

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading...whatever this has just become... I wish I could say I'm sorry. Thank you very much for reading this story, though. This chapter...was very difficult to write, and it didn't go the way I planned. Originally, they were supposed to have a nice, civil conversation and enjoy themselves at the cafe before going on a minor shopping spree on Main Street and their first date would have been perfect and fluffy and wonderful. But I'm not very good at writing fluff, and I'm terrible at writing Arthur. The combination proved impossible. I was up all night yesterday-I didn't go to sleep until 2 pm today-trying to find the fluff, but it wouldn't come. This is the best I can do for you, readers, and I wish I could have written the date I've described instead. I apologize if I made anyone nauseous with these pet names. They made me sick too.  
Yes, USUK has come into play, but it won't be that easy. If the Hundred Years War was referenced in the last chapter, then the beginnings of British colonization of America are represented, albeit _very _loosely, in this chapter. We all know how that ends.

Thank you very much, though. This chapter, too, is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are purely mine.

I know I've set a pattern here that implies Arthur will be the main focus of the next chapter, but as I've shown, I really can't write him very well, so I'm not sure if this will come to pass.

I'm so very sorry.

**To the Guest reviewer:** I am so beyond happy I can't even find the words. Thank you so so /so/ much! I'm so very happy to hear how much you like this story. I believe your question on Arthur and Alfred was answered in this chapter ^^. I hope Mattie will be okay too, but I'm sure I wouldn't write anything too cruel about him. I already feel as though I've kicked a puppy for putting him through that, so hopefully he'll heal quickly. My wound was when I was eight years old, so it's perfectly fine now, but thank you so much for your concern :). You're very welcome, and I'm very excited to be posting this chapter :D (mostly because I can move on and never look at it again...I'm so sorry). Thank you so much.

Translations for this chapter:  
I don't believe there are any. I'm sensing a pattern here: Gilbert-less chapters seem to be purely English...

Thank you so very very much for reading this story (and suffering through this awful chapter).

~VV


	7. French

_-I'll never forget the first time that I heard that pretty mouth say that dirty word.-  
Little Moments; Brad Paisley_

_-Hetalia-_

Two weeks really wasn't that far away.

Matthew was worried they wouldn't be ready for the contest in time. They'd talked it over, in yet another one of Alfred's two AM conference calls, and decided that their bi-weekly practices just wouldn't be enough. Unfortunately, Arthur worked nights more often than not while Gilbert got off around six thirty everyday. The only days the two could get together were really just the practice days, which meant that Alfred and Matthew would have to be the go-betweens. They decided that Gilbert would write the songs and then go over them with Matthew, since he'd be the one to sing them in the end. That reminder made Matthew's stomach tie itself in knots. Once they worked out any conflicts, Gilbert would give the music to Alfred, and he'd get it to Arthur so they could practice in their free time.

Meanwhile, Alfred's dad had decided to drag him all over town to do volunteer work so he would have plenty of things to put on his college applications. That was where Alfred was now, leaving Matthew home alone with his mother, trying to hide his injury. Thankfully, he only had to wait another fifteen minutes or so before she went out to her friend's baby shower, and then he'd be free to move off the couch without having to hide his grimace at the pain. Matthew turned away from the clock when she came back to the living room for possibly the hundredth time that hour.

"Matthew, honey-"

A rather obnoxious knocking cut her off, and she frowned, wondering aloud who it could be as she went to the front door.

"Oh, hello Gilbert. I didn't know you were coming over." Matthew dragged himself up enough to look over the back of the couch and confirm that the self-proclaimed Prussian was at the door. Matthew grinned, glad to see him. His mother and Gilbert exchanged a few words before the albino crossed the room to where Matthew was, and the blond noticed he'd brought his other guitar with him. Unlike the electric guitar he brought to practices, this one was Prussian Blue, most likely because Gilbert wanted to emphasize his nationality.

"Hallo, Birdie," Gilbert grinned down at him. Matthew prayed that he wouldn't make a snide comment about his injury in front of his mother as he smiled back up at the older teen.

"H-hey, I didn't know you were coming," Matthew repeated. Gilbert smirked.

"I'm too awesome to make appointments. Anyway, I just finished a few songs, so I figured you'd wanna see them, ja?" Matthew nodded.

"Yeah. We can go over them in my room," he offered. Truth be told, he wouldn't have minded if Gilbert had just stopped by on a whim. He enjoyed the albino's company. That being said, he had to get Gilbert away from his mother before he said something incriminating.

"You sure you can get up?" Gilbert teased. Too late. Matthew's eyes widened and he quickly looked to see if his mother had heard. She apparently had, because she was giving them an odd look. Gilbert must have followed Matthew's gaze.

"I mean, you've been lazing around on the couch a lot lately. Sure you can still use your legs?" he saved. Matthew never thought he'd be this grateful for Gilbert's expertise in lying.

"Yes, Mattie, you really should go out more," his mother teased. "Speaking of which, I have to head out soon, Gilbert, but you're welcome to stay if you don't mind being left alone with Matthew. Alfred's out with his father, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," Gilbert said, shaking his head. Once Matthew's mother was out of earshot, he turned back to him with a grin. "Geez, didn't know you had it in you."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Matthew mumbled, dragging himself up off the couch. He groaned softly at the pain.

"You know exactly what I mean," Gilbert smirked. Matthew sighed and didn't meet his eyes as they walked to his room.

"...Yeah, but..."

"Hey, I'm not judging," Gilbert snorted. "Just didn't think the Golden Child could stand to lie," he teased. Matthew's cheeks burned with shame as they entered the bedroom.

"I just...like working with the dogs," he mumbled, shutting the door. Gilbert shrugged and dropped himself on the bed, plopping a notebook down beside him.

"The songs," he said with a nod. Matthew returned it and joined him, looking over the lyrics Gilbert had written. He blushed heavily as he read through the first song.

"G-Gil!" he squeaked.

"What?" Gilbert smirked.

"I-I can't- You expect me t-to-..." Matthew couldn't find the words to protest clearly, and Gilbert laughed openly at him.

"Jeez, I knew you were a virgin, but _really_," he taunted.

"I-it's indecent!" Matthew insisted.

"It's called _rock_, Birdie," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"I can't go on stage a-and sing...sing..." Matthew searched for some of the more vulgar lines, "'Don't make a sound unless you're screaming my name.' I'd be mortified!"

"C'mon, that's gold," Gilbert protested. Matthew put his head in his hands. "It's just a song, Birdie. Don't be such a prude."

"It's so...dirty," Matthew groaned.

"Ah, come on. It's just a song," Gilbert insisted.

"You're not the one who has to sing it," Matthew complained quietly.

"You need to just get laid already and get over it. Sex is perfectly normal, Birdie." Matthew felt his entire face go red as he looked back up at Gilbert.

"I-I only just turned sixteen!" It was perfectly normal to be a virgin at sixteen! Matthew wondered yet again why he was even friends with Gilbert. Then again, he couldn't really picture himself _not _being friends with Gilbert... They were actually rather close. Possibly closer than Matthew really wanted to think about at the moment.

"And? I had great birthday sex for my sweet sixteen," Gilbert smirked. Matthew hid his face in his hands again. The albino laughed at him. "Even Al isn't this much of a virgin," he taunted.

"Yes he is..." Matthew protested weakly.

"Nein, Alfred can at least talk about it. Look at you, you're like a fourteen year old girl afraid to say 'shit,'" Gilbert said, poking him in the cheek. Matthew decided not to justify that with a response. Gilbert sighed, probably rolling his eyes.

"Look, if you're gonna be _that _much of a prude, I'll sing that one. You can do back up or something for it. But you need to wake up and grow a pair," he added.

"I-I just...people I know will be there," Matthew argued, looking back at the albino.

"They're not going to take you seriously," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "It's not like they're gonna say 'Oh, Matthew Williams sang a song about sex, I bet he's a man-whore.'" Matthew made a sound of protest.

"If I write it in French, will you sing it?" Gilbert tried.

"You don't even know French."

"You do," Gilbert shrugged. "We can just translate the fun stuff into French and leave the smut-less bits in English. Actually, that might be hot..." Gilbert trailed off. Matthew bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'll still know what I'm saying," he complained.

"But no one else will. You said you'd be mortified if people you knew heard you talking about sex, right? Well they won't know what you're saying. They'll just hear sexy French and the girls will all cheer for you and one day you can actually get laid."

"...I-I don't think that'll work out very well," Matthew muttered.

"What? No one will know, except us. That makes it like ten times better," he snickered. "Or did you mean the girl thing? Because in this town, I'm sure there will be guys screaming for you too," he added with a smirk. Matthew flushed.

"M-maybe...b-but I'll know I'm singing about..about sex!" he whimpered again, emphasizing his point. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"It'll be in _French_. Geez, we're going in circles here.

"How come you even speak French anyway? Canada's mostly English-speaking, isn't it?" Gilbert suddenly asked. Matthew's eyes widened a bit before he looked away, biting his lip. Gilbert shifted, leaning closer curiously. "Matt?"

"Well, uh..." Matthew's eyes flicked to Gilbert's for a moment before looking away again, pulling his knees up to his chest. He supposed, if it was Gilbert, he could tell him. "...My dad was from Quebec...he...insisted that Mom o-only spoke French around the house...around him. ...It was my first language..." Matthew fidgeted uncomfortably.

"But, you don't have an accent like Francis," Gilbert pointed out. Matthew flinched.

"Y-yeah, well...Mom taught me English too..." Matthew didn't want to think about this, but he could sense Gilbert wanted to ask more questions about it, and he sighed. "He wasn't really happy about that..." He glanced up at Gilbert and saw he was frowning.

"He didn't..." the albino started cautiously, serious for the first time in a long while, as far as the Canadian had seen. Matthew made a sound and looked away, hugging his knees closer.

"...I've got a s-scar...on my leg," he mumbled. He heard Gilbert growl softly.

"I'll track him down and kill him," the albino swore.

"...A truck beat you to it. When I was four." Matthew shifted again, his wound hurting him in this position. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled, picking up Gilbert's notebook to distract himself. He flipped past the explicit song and looked over the second one.

"I like this one, but I'm not sure how the lyrics flow," he said quickly, changing the subject. Gilbert grunted and leaned over him to get a good look, practically setting his chin on Matthew's shoulder. Matthew swallowed a little harder than was normal.

His stomach flipped with that realization. It was bad enough Alfred was breaking the unspoken 'don't date within the band' rule - he didn't need this to start happening now.

"Here, I'll play it," Gilbert offered once he recognized the song, pulling the blond out of his worries. Matthew smiled slightly and nodded, shifting to give Gilbert more room to situate his guitar.

"Hold that open for me," Gilbert instructed as he strummed a few chords on the acoustic to warm up. Matthew held the book up for him to see his own writing and Gilbert began to play the song, singing in his slightly rough voice. Matthew recognized some of the words and realized they were his own; the words he sang when they were trying to pull something together on that first day of practice.

"Like that," Gilbert said as it came to an end. Matthew nodded.

"It's really good," he smiled.

"Danke. I still think you should sing this one, though," Gilbert smirked, flipping back to the first song. Matthew flushed and shook his head quickly.

"No, I couldn't! Not even in French."

"Aw, c'mon," Gilbert pleaded. "It would be awesome! It sounds better in a higher voice anyway," he insisted, using the excuse Arthur had to get him to join in the first place. "I mean, I'm an awesome singer, because I'm just so awesome, but I wrote it for someone with your voice to sing it. And I bet it's even better in French; people romanticize about sexy foreigners all the time, don't they?"

"B-but I couldn't," Matthew whimpered again. Gilbert groaned.

"Here, I'll play it, and you just sing the lyrics and French-out the smut. It's just me, so don't be all prissy and virginal. Or Specs. Don't be like Specs."

"A-aren't you two..." Matthew flushed. Gilbert grinned.

"Sometimes he cashes in a favor, but he's still a prude. Him and his orchestra," Gilbert snorted, rolling his eyes. "Now sing, damn you!"

Matthew knew Gilbert wasn't going to give up, but he _really _didn't want to sing a song like this. Gilbert continued to play the intro over and over, giving Matthew a pointed look. Matthew sighed and started singing.

_"Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom, _

_That's right, baby, not a single sound,_

_Ne dis rein sauf si tu m'es mendier pour plus,_

_C'mon, baby, whatcha waiting for?"_

If anything, it was more embarrassing in French. It sounded dirtier, somehow, possibly because of the way French was naturally a bit slurred. Matthew felt his cheeks burning, but as Gilbert played, he couldn't help but start to loose himself in the song. It was well written, if only it weren't about sex.

_"Tonight, it's just you and I,_

_Roulons entre les feuilles,_

_Faisant de chaque autre cri,_

_My hands are tied, I'm gonna die,_

_Et tu continues à gémir pour moi,_

_Baisons si farouchement."_

Matthew persevered, thankful that his mother had left already. He didn't want to think about what would happen if she heard him singing "_Baises-moi comme une salope, comme une salope, comme une salope_." Matthew could hardly believe he was even singing it. The song was so filthy that more than half of it was in French now, and Matthew had a terrible feeling that this was all going to come back to bite him in the ass later.

Finally, _finally _it ended, and Matthew was amazed his face hadn't burst into flames yet. Gilbert just stared at him for a long moment, and Matthew was starting to feel uncomfortable. He shifted nervously under the ruby gaze, until he couldn't take it anymore.

"...Wh-what?" he asked, biting his lip. Gilbert raised his eyebrows at him.

"_Fuck, _you _have _to sing this on stage!"

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much for sticking around with this story. I'm sorry about the wait, but the good news is I've got a beta now! Thank you very _very _much Hornet394 for fixing all my mistakes. I promise you all that this chapter is exponentially better thanks to the editing Hornet394 did. I am eternally grateful.  
She's also been kind enough to go over the other six chapters for me, so I will be updating those with the edits momentarily. Nothing major will change in the story line, so please don't be concerned. The writing will just be greatly improved.  
Apparently, the French is all correct. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or ashamed, to be completely honest. I do hate that song, though. I just cannot write songs.  
I will pay you with requests if you write me songs! I'm not even kidding. PM me if you're interested.

To the Guest reviewer: Thank you so much! I'm glad to hear you like my story and think it's awesome. Thank you, thank you!  
Please don't tell your mothers I taught you how to say such filthy things in French. I'll probably get kicked out of French class...

Translations for this chapter:  
Ja: German; yes (See previous notes on Gilbert's usage of ja)  
Nein: German; no  
Danke: German; Thank you  
Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom: French; Don't make a sound unless you're screaming my name  
Ne dis rein sauf si tu m'es mendier pour plus: French; Don't say anything unless you're begging me for more  
Roulons entre les feuilles: French; rolling between the sheets  
Faisant de chaque autre cri: French; Making each other scream  
Et tu continues à gémir pour moi: French; And you continue to moan for me  
Baisons si farouchement: French; Fucking so fiercely  
Baises-moi comme une salope, comme une salope, comme une salope: French; Fuck me like a slut, like a slut, like a slut.

I'm a horrible human being.

Thank you for reading this story. Chapter 8 is in the editing process.  
~VV


	8. Ex-Boyfriends

_-Nothing you can say can stop me going home.-  
__Famous Last Words; My Chemical Romance_

_-Hetalia-_

Arthur hated Scott.

Not exclusively; Arthur hated all his half-brothers, and even Peter annoyed him. But Scott was the worst.

They were beyond the innocent taunts of Arty Farty and Scott Got Shot, both of which were hardly traumatizing and the name calling ended rather quickly. They'd even outgrown the days of dying each other's clothes pink in the wash. Now that the both of them were out of high school, they'd entered the days of psychological warfare. Physical beatings were hardly out of the question, though. There were just more options now.

Arthur hated Scott. Scott hated Arthur.

Thus, the globe spun on.

Palindromes aside, Arthur was holed up in his bedroom in order to avoid the Scotsman until Alfred showed up to cart him off to their date. Peter had a football match, which was both a blessing and a curse. The good news was that for once, Arthur had the bedroom to himself. The bad news was that the only adults home were, therefore, himself and his older brothers, sans Owen who was away in Wales. Arthur's only option, really, was to keep to the bedroom and pray he wouldn't have to shove a dresser in front of the door again to keep his tormentor out. Last time he tried to use one as a barricade, he nearly broke Peter's dresser.

Arthur constantly looked at the clock, and then back at his cell phone, waiting for it to be time for Alfred to arrive and save him from his brothers. He was tempted several times to simply call Alfred and tell him to come early, but that was a bit rude and would also mean admitting defeat; something he'd never do. If he could handle the several broken noses he'd received from his older brothers, he could manage to wait them out in his room.

It still was a great relief to see Alfred's truck driving down the street.

Unfortunately, Arthur's relief died young when he left the sanctuary of his shared bedroom and entered the main hallway, for leaning against the front door was the unmistakable figure of Scott, arms crossed and a smirk holding his cigarette. Which, Arthur would like to point out, he wasn't supposed to be smoking inside. Or at all, really, but he'd gotten away with it by swearing to keep it outside.

Arthur gritted his teeth and kept calm.

"Where d'you think _you're _goin'?" Scott asked as Arthur walked down the hall.

"Out," Arthur responded curtly. The less he gave Scott, the less there would be to turn against him in the long run. Besides, it wasn't Scott's business, and Arthur was an adult now. He could do what he wanted.

"Not if y'can't get through the door. Who ya goin' with, lad?" Scott pressed on, not moving so much as a centimeter. Arthur took a slow breath and wished Alfred would just come up and knock on the door already.

"Alfred," he answered when it appeared he'd have no such luck.

"Oh, he's the weird one with the jacket, right?" Arthur waited again for the knock that didn't come.

"Sometimes, yes," he nodded.

"Where ya goin'?"

In any normal family, it would seem Scott was just being protective, or just a bit nosy. Arthur could only wish they were normal. This was pre-emptive blackmail. Scott didn't have anything on him yet, but he was going to get some here and now, and there was nothing Arthur could do about it. This was their latest game, a game orchestrated by Scott because he was still bigger than Arthur, and if the Brit didn't play, he'd have to endure a beating in a fight he couldn't win. Blackmail was the lesser of two evils for him.

"He didn't say," Arthur lied. Either Scott saw through the lie or he'd found that information useful, because his smirk widened. Before he could respond, though, Alfred finally knocked on the door. Scott stood up straight and opened it just enough to fit his entire form in the doorway.

"Mornin' to ya," he greeted. It was around one in the afternoon. Arthur refrained from commenting as he made his way closer, wondering how much effort it would take to shove Scott aside, and just how fast would he have to run afterwards.

"'Sup, Scott," Arthur heard Alfred respond. Arthur tuned them out as he looked for a way around his older brother. Unfortunately, he was holding the door firmly, so Arthur couldn't make any more room to squeeze by. Scott was blocking the entire doorway with his body, effectively trapping Arthur.

Just as he was considering leaping out of his bedroom window, his brother stepped aside.

"Enjoy your date," Scott snorted, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Arthur couldn't resist the comeback he felt rising as he stepped outside. With a glance to Alfred to warn him, Arthur smirked.

"Enjoy your sheep," he shot back. Scott shoved himself up off the wall and Arthur bolted to the truck, Alfred half a second behind him. As he scrambled into the truck, Arthur looked over his shoulder to see Scott right on their heels.

"Shit, drive, drive!" Arthur hissed as Alfred slammed his door. Neither bothered with seatbelts as Alfred put the keys in the ignition as fast as possible. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal and they took off, leaving the furious Scott in their dust. Alfred was laughing as he turned the corner and buckled his seatbelt.

"Dude, you're toast when you get back," he pointed out. Arthur let out a sigh as he buckled his own seatbelt.

"Yes...hopefully Peter's football game will be over by then," Arthur said, leaning against the door.

"I thought he was in soccer."

"It's the same thing, git," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"No it's not. Soccer's with a black and white ball. Football's got the pig-skin ball. Plus there's like rules and stuff that are different." They'd been having this argument for years, and Arthur was under the impression that Alfred only even brought it up anymore for entertainment purposes. Arthur had had enough fighting for one day, though.

"Just drop it," he huffed. "We're nearly there anyway, aren't we?" he added to ensure the topic was changed. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, like five minutes away. You wanna eat first?" he asked, glancing at Arthur for a moment before turning back to the road. Arthur nodded.

"Yes, please. I've been hiding in my bedroom all day, so I haven't had anything to eat yet."

"Jeez, dude. I dunno how you do it! I'd have died or something if I hadn't eaten all day. You should have called me, I could've come over sooner," he added as the mall came within sight. "I could have rescued you and been a total hero!"

Arthur snorted. "I can survive a few hours without a meal, Alfred," he rolled his eyes. "Anyway, let's just focus on enjoying ourselves, yes?" he added as Alfred pulled into the parking lot. Alfred nodded and found them a spot.

"C'mon, let's go get lunch," he said as they left the truck. Arthur nodded.

Alfred, unsurprisingly, ordered more food than any normal human being should have been able to consume, while Arthur just ordered himself a nice sandwich. They sat near a large fountain on Arthur's suggestion, and it became apparent from Alfred's first bite that there wouldn't be much conversation until after the food was gone. Arthur was used to this. That didn't mean he liked it, though.

Alfred had finished eating his massive amount of food before Arthur finished his little sandwich, and the Brit could see the people at the food stall handing one another money. They'd betted on whether or not the lunatic would finish his meal. Again. Arthur sighed.

"Alright, dude, where d'you wanna go? My treat," Alfred grinned once Arthur had finished his food. Arthur shrugged and they began walking about the mall side by side. Arthur couldn't entirely ignore the nagging voice in his head that whined about the lack of romance in this date. Turning his head to look for a distraction, he spotted Doctor Who merchandise and grinned.

"In there," he answered, nodding to the store. Alfred grinned and led the way in.

"Hey, we could come here for the band, too," Alfred said as he held up a spiked collar for Arthur to investigate. Arthur nodded, eyes scanning the store for other things that could fit the rocker look they'd want to go for. There were plenty, it seemed. Arthur gestured towards a pair of pants in the corner, which Alfred rushed over to.

By the time they left the store, they'd wasted a good half hour planning the band's wardrobe, and Arthur heard that nagging voice now louder than ever. Despite the fact that Alfred, true to his word, had bought Arthur a few Doctor Who things in the store, this outing hardly felt romantic.

Things only got worse when they stopped at a smoothie stand.

Arthur wasn't generally a jealous person. He'd dated Francis, after all. Every time they'd broken up there were others brought in for a one night stand or something until they got back together. But when he and Francis were together, Francis had the decency to refrain from flirting with ex-boyfriends. Oblivious or not, Alfred had no excuse.

At first, the sight of the tall Russian made Arthur nervous that there would be a fight. Alfred and Ivan hated one another more days than not. The breakup hadn't been terribly messy, but a lot of things happened afterward to pit them against one another in sexual-tension-fueled hatred.

"Hello, Alfred," Ivan greeted when it became apparent Alfred hadn't noticed him. Alfred nearly jumped before turning around to glare at the Russian, and Arthur tensed, ready to break up an upcoming fight.

"Commie," Alfred nodded in greeting. They both stood with heads held high, glaring challengingly at one another, the tension coming off of them in waves. Ivan laughed humorlessly. Arthur tried not to shiver.

"It is so good to see you, da? It's nice to see friends over the summer." Ivan said sweetly. He pronounced 'friends' oddly, and Arthur had a feeling that it wasn't to emphasize the loss of their once strong friendship. Alfred's eyes glinted with dark amusement and the thrill of the tension just before a fight. Ivan's eyes glinted with something different. Arthur was getting uncomfortable.

"Yeah, it _was _nice, until _you _turned up," Alfred grinned. The tension was thick in the air, and it was beginning to add to Arthur's already high stress levels. He'd hoped for some relief from the tension caused by being trapped with Liam and Scott, but it seemed the universe was against him.

"That is not very nice, Alfred," Ivan scolded in his childlike tone. Arthur could hear the subtle malice in it, and his eyes locked on Alfred, waiting for the first signs of a fight. "I would have thought you would have found my presence to be…how do you say…rousing?" Arthur had a feeling Ivan knew very well that was the wrong word.

"If by rousing you meant disturbing, yeah," Alfred snorted. They shared a heated glare, Alfred's smirk contrasting Ivan's would-be innocent smile. Arthur recognized a certain spark in Ivan's eyes; he'd seen a similar glint in Francis's far too many times.

"I do not think that is how you truly feel," Ivan replied. Arthur's patience had already been worn thin by Scott, and the glance Ivan spared him snapped whatever he had left.

"I'll show you what I 'truly feel,'" Alfred said, mimicking Ivan's accent. Arthur saw the American form a fist and knew Alfred's patience had gone as well.

"Let's just go, Alfred," he grumbled, taking the younger by the wrist and dragging him away from the stand. Ivan stared after them, a smirk on his face.

"Enjoy your date!" he called after them. Arthur resisted the urge to glare back at him. Alfred turned and stuck his tongue out at the Russian.

"Take me home," Arthur huffed. Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"You sure? We haven't been here very long," he pointed out.

"I want to go home," Arthur half-lied. Alfred frowned.

"Since when?"

"Since I was nearly drowned in your sexual tension," he grumbled. Alfred stared at him as if he'd just announced he wanted to marry Scott.

"What?"

"You and Ivan have some serious unresolved issues," Arthur pointed out, walking a bit faster as he led the way back to the exit. Alfred picked up his pace to keep up.

"Yeah...What, did you think we were gunna start beating each other up? We don't do that in public anymore - people break us up before we can get to the bloody part."

"It looked more like he was going to pin you to an alley wall and take you dry," Arthur huffed, opening the doors and stalking into the parking lot. Alfred choked on air behind him.

"What the _hell_?" he managed to gasp out. "Ew! Dude, no. Just. _NO_."

"He was flirting with you, Alfred," Arthur rolled his eyes as he came to a stop by the truck.

"No way, dude! I would know if he was flirting with me. There's no way."

"Just take me home," Arthur insisted, opening the door once Alfred unlocked the truck.

"Seriously, we weren't flirting," Alfred argued once they were buckled in.

"Either way, this was hardly a romantic outing," Arthur sighed as they began pulling out of the parking lot.

"..I'm sorry, Iggy," Alfred mumbled. He sounded like a child who'd been wrongly scolded. Arthur sighed.

"How about I choose our next date," he offered. Alfred nodded.

"Sure, anything you want."

"Take me out to dinner. A nice, romantic restaurant, just the two of us." Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, okay. When?"

"I have Sunday night off. Let's go then." Alfred nodded and they drove back in silence.

"Oh, hey, before I forget," Alfred said once they'd arrived at Arthur's house, "Gil came over the other day with the music and stuff. Here's your parts." Alfred pulled some sheets of paper out of the center console and handed them over.

"Thanks," Arthur said with a nod. Scott was on the front step now, smirking at them. Arthur gulped and climbed out of the truck without another word.

He really hoped he wouldn't end up with a broken nose this time.

_-H-_

Scott didn't break his nose.

Not for lack of trying, of course. Arthur had just been lucky. He could run faster than Scott when the redhead was drunk. He was also lucky enough to get out of the house on Sunday without a confrontation, and made it into Alfred's truck safely.

That was the end of his luck.

They drove in a comfortable silence together, though Arthur could tell Alfred was a bit nervous. He clearly wanted to make up for their last trip to the mall. Arthur smiled, thankful. Alfred's heart was really in the right place, in the end.

The drive was relatively short, and soon Alfred was hopping out of the truck, going as far as to open Arthur's door for him. They didn't walk arm in arm, but Arthur didn't mind. He noted, as they entered, that the name of the restaurant was familiar, though he'd never been here before. He couldn't quite place where he'd heard its name, though, and he pushed it aside as they were seated and told that their server would be with them shortly.

The server arrived with their menus, and as Arthur looked up to accept his, he had to hold back a gasp. He stared in shock at the man before them, who looked uncomfortable to say the least. The Brit finally remembered where he'd heard the name of the restaurant before.

This was where Francis bloody Bonnefoy worked.

Alfred bit his lip and looked between them, as though he was expecting a fight. Francis, however, just composed himself and smiled.

"'Ello and welcome to The Vine. I am Francis and I will be your server for tonight. What would you like to drink?"

They pretended this was perfectly normal and placed their orders, Arthur cringing slightly when Alfred's answer was "A Coke." Francis spared him a superior look, fortunately, and simply nodded, promising to return shortly. Arthur forced himself to look over the menu.

"Please, don't order a whole bunch of food," he begged Alfred. Alfred looked up over the top of his menu, startled.

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean you usually order far more than any average human being could possibly eat, and then you proceed to stuff your face until you nearly gag. That's not exactly proper, or romantic." Alfred raised an eyebrow at the criticism. After a moment, he shrugged.

"Sure, dude, whatever," he gave in. "I'll just get the burger thing they - what?" He'd seen Arthur twitch.

"A burger, Alfred? That's hardly something one orders at a place like this-"

"And 'ere are your drinks," Francis interrupted them. "Do you know what you would like to eat? Or shall I give you more time." Arthur caught the subtle smirk on the Frenchman's face and knew that he was waiting for Alfred to do something embarrassing.

"We need a minute," he said quickly. Francis smiled smugly and nodded before leaving for another table.

"So I can't have a burger?" Alfred asked.

"No. You can have a steak or pasta or something. Just as long as it's more formal than a burger." Alfred sighed but nodded.

"And don't bother with these desserts," Arthur added as he looked over the menu.

"What? Why not?"

"They're just a waste of money. You could get cake or ice cream anywhere, don't let him tempt you just because the picture looks nice."

"'Ave you decided?" Francis reappeared. Arthur nodded.

_-H-_

Despite the Frenchman's near constant presence - business was slow tonight and Francis insisted on returning to their table, claiming he wanted to be sure they had everything they needed - Arthur and Alfred tried to make civil conversation and enjoy one another's presence. It wasn't easy. Arthur could tell Alfred was a little annoyed that he was being told what to do. Francis could apparently tell as well, because every time he passed by their table, he looked more and more smug. Arthur had to admit he wasn't enjoying himself either.

"Will there be anything else?" Francis asked eventually. Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but Alfred beat him to it.

"Yeah, what kinds of cake do you guys have again?" Arthur glared at him. Alfred seemed oblivious, his attention focused on the Frenchman as he rattled off a list. "Cool. I'll have the Black Forest Cake, please," Alfred smiled.

"Oui, of course. And anything for you?" Francis asked Arthur, smirking when he saw the Brit's expression. Arthur gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down.

"No, thank you."

Francis nodded and left them. Arthur glared at Alfred.

"What?"

"I told you not to," Arthur hissed.

"Dude, chill out. It's just a little sugar, okay? And Black Forest Cake is kinda fancy. What's the big deal?"

"He played you," Arthur grumbled.

"What?"

"The tip is a percentage of the bill. The frog was just trying to con you into spending more money so he could get a bigger tip."

"Dude, chill out," Alfred repeated, raising his eyebrows. "I just ordered some cake."

"Well I certainly hope you enjoy it," Arthur huffed, rising from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Alfred asked, frowning.

"Home," Arthur answered curtly before storming off. It wasn't too far anyways, he would just walk home.

At least it wasn't raining.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading this story. Here's a chapter from Arthur's angle, and it's twice as long as the other chapters, if that makes up for anything. I really am terrible at writing from Arthur's point of view. Or writing anything to do with Arthur. I feel bad about that, for some reason...  
The history in this story is obviously not very linear. Here we have some hints at the Cold War (which I actually didn't learn about in school, so please forgive my ignorance if I've done something wrong. Ironically my advanced American history class didn't get very far past WWII...). We've also got the Navigation Acts (Arthur didn't want Alfred having anything to do with either Ivan nor Francis, just as England tried to control all of America's trade back in the colonial period) and the Molasses Act (England tried to get America to stop trading for sugar with the French West Indies, but American's smuggled it anyway).

I realize Arthur is a bit...petty? (Hornet394 says he's a bit PMS-ish). I think part of this is my inability to write him, but part of it is also possibly a reflection of the way England acted during this time period? Maybe I'm making excuses...

I wondered when My Chemical Romance would turn up. Now I just have to wait and see when Marianas Trench will join the song list.

Thank you Hornet394 for your editing work. The Cold War scene is much better thanks to you.

Translations for this chapter:  
Da?: Russian; Yes?  
Oui: French; Yes.

Thank you all for reading and for being patient between uploads. Happy Canada Day!

~VV


	9. One Night Stand

_-There's a fine line between love and hate.-  
__Diary of Jane; Breaking Benjamin_

_-Hetalia-_

Their last practice had been messy.

On top of the fact that they were all nervous about the upcoming gig, it seemed Alfred and Arthur had had a fight of some sort over the weekend. Gilbert had overheard the American ranting to Matthew when he came over on Tuesday.

Arthur had apparently been called in for a morning shift, meaning he would be late to practice. When Gilbert arrived, he found the Jones's garage door half open, so he just let himself in and hooked up his amp. After a few minutes of wondering impatiently where the other two were, he took the door to the hallway and decided to search for them himself.

"…said I was _flirting _with the commie bastard!" Alfred was practically shouting at Matthew as Gilbert opened the living room door. The American stood in front of the couch, his arms thrown up dramatically. Matthew was laying, as per usual lately, on the couch, looking up at his step-brother with a tired expression.

"You've told me, Al," he mumbled. Alfred either didn't hear, or he ignored him.

"And then…! We went out to eat, and he's bossing me around like I'm a twelve year old!" Gilbert caught Matthew's eye and the bored look left the blond's face immediately.

"O-oh, I didn't hear you come in," he smiled.

"What's up with him?" Gilbert asked, jabbing a thumb in Alfred's direction as he came over to sit on the arm of the couch.

"Arthur's an insecure, over-controlling dick, that's what," Alfred huffed, crossing his arms.

"Break up with him," Gilbert snorted. Alfred looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I dunno…that's kinda…drastic? I mean, I still like him…" he mumbled. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Are all your relationships love-hate deals or what?" he teased. Alfred laughed distractedly. They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"Did you already set up?" Matthew asked, offering a change of topic. Gilbert nodded.

"Ja, everything's ready to go. How's your problem?" He didn't know if their parents were lurking around, and he wasn't going to be the one to spill the beans.

"It's healing well," Matthew smiled.

"Parents went out," Alfred added, his mood completely changed. Gilbert nodded.

"How's your perfect little conscience holding out, then, Birdie?" he teased the youngest teen. Matthew flushed lightly and bit his lip. He was about to say something when the sound of a car in the driveway announced Arthur's arrival.

What came afterwards was probably the most awkward band practice they'd ever had. Matthew was tense the entire time, as he always was after talking about people behind their backs. He wasn't a good person to share gossip with. Meanwhile, the tension between Alfred and Arthur was almost tangible, and Gilbert became more and more annoyed with it as the practice wore on. Every mistake was pointed out almost before it happened, and each criticism was followed by brief arguments that became pettier by the minute. Gilbert tried to amuse himself by guessing at what poor insult would come next, wondering how long it would take for the "Your mom,"'s to rear their heads, but when the phrase did leave Alfred's lips, he was tired of listening to their griping. He groaned, and even heard Matthew sigh softly, but a glance at the couple told him they were almost enjoying the argument. Gilbert never understood why they liked irritating one another all the time, dating or not, but he could only take so much of it at any given time.

"Well, I have to go, but I think we're ready for the stage anyway," he interrupted yet another quarrel. "Get some practice on your own, and I'll see you all at the show," he said as he gathered up his things. Matthew waved goodbye to him, looking as though he desperately wanted to escape as well.

Alfred and Arthur were already fighting again by the time Gilbert had ducked under the garage door.

_-H-_

Gilbert was bored.

He'd practiced his parts to perfection. He was completely prepared for the show tomorrow. Ludwig was pulling an extra shift, _again_, and Gilbert couldn't even make dinner because his younger brother had left a message with Toris saying he'd bring something back from the restaurant. The albino had showered Gilbird with attention for nearly an hour, and now he was out of ideas. There was absolutely nothing on tv, and he'd checked twice just to be sure. He could always call someone, but the only one it'd be fun to call at this hour was Roderich, and lately he'd grown bored of the 'harass an Austrian' game. Mostly because Specs refused to humor him, what with all his recent recitals. Just as Gilbert was mourning the loss of the wonderful source of entertainment, the phone rang.

"Hallo?"

"My parents are gone."

The call ended. Gilbert smirked.

It took him three minutes to find a pen and some paper. He had a short and sweet note of "Getting some," written down in two seconds flat. Grabbing a chair from their make-shift dining room, Gilbert found the scotch tape and cut off a long strip, attaching one end to the ceiling and the other end to his note, so that it hung in the middle of the room. He didn't bother moving the chair back to its place. After a rushed change of clothes he grabbed his car keys and was out the door.

The game had begun.

_-H-_

Gilbert hated Roderich Edelstein.

He hated his stupid glasses. He hated his prissy attitude. He hated his obsession with the orchestra. He hated his massive house. He hated his wealth. He hated his arrogant parents. He hated the sound of his voice.

But God help him if he didn't love taking the brunet to bed.

This was a common occurrence for them. Whenever Roderich's parents left for a performance or something, being skilled musicians themselves, the Austrian would call Gilbert up. They would use one another for their own needs, and Gilbert would leave as soon as Roderich was done with him. It was perfect mutualism.

As Gilbert pulled into the empty driveway and looked up at the huge house, he couldn't hide his smirk. Roderich used him as a way to rebel against his parents, who more or less directed his entire life outside these episodes of reckless abandon.

Gilbert knocked on the door three times. He waited, and prepared himself for what would come next. He knew the brunet was just on the other side of the door, but like him, Roderich was taking a moment to prepare. Because once that door swung open, there was little chance of dropping out. Gilbert held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. It wouldn't be the first time if Roderich had changed his mind and left him standing on the step.

The door opened.

Gilbert was grabbed by the shirt and forced inside, Roderich's lips already smashing against his own, desperately begging to be dominated. Gilbert took the invitation, kicking the door shut behind them. The hand that wasn't fisting his shirt found its way into his hair as Roderich backed up into the wall, sending a potted plant to the floor. Gilbert never tired of breaking whatever stood in his path once he crossed the threshold.

Gilbert's knee slid between the brunet's legs, and the Austrian groaned into the kiss. Gilbert moved on to his neck, diligently leaving as many bruising marks as he could. He made sure to make it nearly impossible for Specs to cover them later. Half the fun was, for the Austrian, lying to his parents afterwards.

"Speak," Roderich commanded. Gilbert smirked. He was naming the goal of tonight's game, though Gilbert had guessed it when the initial phrase he uttered was in English. The first person to default to German lost. The brunet usually played this game when he was feeling particularly challenging, and Gilbert suspected it wouldn't be long before Roderich gave the signal for a rough night.

"Planning on getting off on my voice?" Gilbert teased as he nipped his way back up Roderich's neck. Roderich smirked, knowing all too well where the albino was going.

"Hardly; I just want to hear you fall apart," he replied, turning his head to bite Prussian's lower lip before he could make it to his ear. Gilbert got the hint and claimed Roderich's lips again, taking careful note of the Austrian's hands as the one on his shirt moved north to tug at his hair with its brother. Though the game was speech based this time, they still relied on their system of subtle signals. The pianist's lips parted in a groan, and Gilbert knew as his tongue slipped into the other's mouth that it was time for a change of scenery. Gripping the Austrian's belt, he dragged them away from the wall and towards the nearest horizontal surface; the grand piano. The brunet groaned again as he was pinned roughly, knocking a small vase of flowers sideways, the water spilling over the piano's edge.

"You're not speaking," Roderich reprimanded him as Gilbert's lips returned to his neck. The hands left his hair and tugged at the albino's jacket, pulling it down his arms and forcing Gilbert to take his hands off the Austrian so the garment could be removed. It was tossed across the room, and the slightly dimmer lighting told Gilbert that it had landed on the lamp.

"What do you want me to say, Priss?" he asked, tugging the brunet's shirt out of his pants and undoing a few of the lowest buttons. Roderich ground his hips against Gilbert's, their twin moans echoing throughout the spacious room.

"Ah – I'm sure you'll think of something." A very noticeable bulge was forming in Roderich's pants, and Gilbert's own clothes seemed to be tightening at an alarming rate.

"Want me to tell you you're a whore?" Gilbert teased, pressing his body tighter against the other, his hands sliding in his shirt. Roderich moaned, and the sound did nothing to lessen the strain Gilbert's tight pants were putting on his growing erection. As much as the masochist within him loved the near pain he was beginning to feel from the restraint, his inner sex-addict was becoming impatient, and he knew he'd be the one to fold first.

"I believe_ I_ called _you_," Roderich reminded him, his voice breathy as arousal fogged his mind. That was the last straw for Gilbert.

"You're still the one who takes it up the ass," he smirked, moaning as he ground against the pianist. "Shall I take you on the piano again?" The line was delivered with his usual cockiness, but they both knew it was his surrender. Roderich's eyes darkened with more than lust as he ground back, echoing the Prussian's moan.

"The bed," he answered, gripping Gilbert's belt as the albino had done to him. Gilbert's hands slid into the Austrian's back pockets as he stepped back just enough to free Roderich from the piano. Gilbert bumped the black instrument purposefully as he was dragged away, relishing the crash of the vase as it finally fell to the floor.

Roderich's mouth was latched on his neck, and even as the brunet walked backwards he pressed himself flush against the Prussian. Gilbert suspected, not for the first time, that he wasn't the only one Roderich used to vent his rebellious urges. Not that the albino cared, of course. He was only in this for the joy of disheveling the prim and proper Austrian and his home, and the benefits of rough sex.

Gilbert pulled at Roderich's shirt as they stumbled their way through a long hallway, sending a few buttons scattering across the floor and leaving only three or four still buttoned at the top. His hands instantly slipped back into Roderich's pockets afterwards, and he moaned loudly as the Austrian drew a little blood at a particularly sensitive part of his neck.

"And I'm the whore?" the brunet muttered in his ear, and Gilbert could hear the smirk in his voice. In response, Gilbert slid one of his hands around to cup Roderich's problem area, drawing a surprised moan from the other, who unintentionally bucked into the hand.

"Definitely," Gilbert smirked, walking them into the bedroom door. One of the Austrian's hands left Gilbert's belt to feel behind him for the doorknob. When he finally got it open, it swung inward and they stumbled over one another into the room, tumbling onto the bed when the backs of Roderich's knees crashed into its edge. Gilbert's hands were trapped underneath the pianist, in his back pockets, and the Austrian easily flipped them over. He wasted no time in yanking Gilbert's shirt off, throwing it behind him and possibly back out into the hall.

Then came the sudden calm moment - the eye of the hurricane - that always came before they went further. Roderich leaned down and trailed gentle fingers along the thin silver chain around Gilbert's neck, slipping behind to the clasp. At the same time, Gilbert reached up, carefully taking hold of the Austrian's glasses. This was a rule in their game; they never audibly asked for consent, nor did they voice their agreement. The removal of these two precious accessories – Roderich's glasses, which he could not see without, and Gilbert's iron cross, which he received as a child from his mother – was the signing of the unspoken contract. If either of them had changed their minds, they would refuse to remove their item and the night would end there. Neither protested this time as the two accessories were placed side by side on the nearby nightstand.

Roderich slid down the albino's body, hovering above his belt and working quickly to remove the offending strip of leather. Gilbert raised an eyebrow – he'd given in first, and therefore the night belonged to Roderich, but it seemed the Austrian was going to reward him anyway.

"Keep talking," Specs instructed. Gilbert understood then what was going on. Gilbert's surrender wasn't enough; Roderich wanted to hear him fall apart, just as he had said. Gilbert's pride wouldn't allow him to give the Austrian the satisfaction.

"Jeez, you really do get off on the sound of my voice, don't you," Gilbert teased as his belt was tossed somewhere. It was immensely entertaining to watch the normally overly organized brunet on nights like this when he sought to break as many rules as possible. The sound of his zipper echoed off the dark walls, and Gilbert summoned all his resolve as his pants were pulled off, followed by his boxers.

"Don't lose your tongue now," Roderich taunted before going down on the albino. Gilbert moaned as the Austrian sucked lightly on the head of his member.

"Don't – ah! – plan on it," Gilbert managed. He resisted the urge to fist his hands in Roderich's hair and force him to go further. The more the Austrian took in, the less English the albino would be able to remember; rushing things would hardly help him keep his pride.

Roderich moaned softly by way of a reply, the vibrations driving Gilbert wild. The pianist took in more of the shaft, keeping his half-lidded gaze on the Prussian's expression. Gilbert registered the demanding tint to the violet irises and smirked weakly, his hands fisting in the sheets.

"What? Hah, expect- uhn –ting me to…" Gilbert was gradually losing his train of thought as Roderich began deep-throating him. He was struggling to think clearly in German, let alone English. Roderich's eyes glittered with challenge. "…T-to ca-call you a-_ah_!" The Austrian interrupted his attempt at finishing the thought by moaning around him. The insult flew from Gilbert's mind, and once it finally fluttered back, it was only in German. The silence, excepting the Prussian's moans, stretched on as Gilbert gave in slightly and bucked into the warm mouth surrounding him. Roderich allowed it as he watched the albino with smug amusement, clearly convinced he had won. In a desperate attempt to beat him, Gilbert tossed out the first non-German insult he could think of.

"S-salope." Gilbert didn't even know where he'd heard the word, or what it meant, but the Austrian seemed to understand it. Roderich moaned loudly, the vibrations drawing Gilbert over the edge with a rough moan. The brunet swallowed most of Gilbert's seed, a small amount overflowing. Seeing the thin line of white on the prim pianist's face made Gilbert smirk as he came back from his post-orgasmic high. "Didn't use German," he said as the Austrian moved up to claim his mouth. Gilbert grunted, tasting himself along with Roderich's unique flavor.

"I want to ride you," Roderich said bluntly once he broke the kiss. Gilbert had expected as much. Roderich never topped – part of what he got off on from their nights was controlling someone even while they dominated him. Regardless to whether he won a battle, he bottomed. The only thing that changed was the position, and whenever he won a challenge, he'd say the same five words.

"Help yourself," Gilbert smirked. He was already becoming hard again. Roderich pulled away to divest himself of his remaining clothing, taking a moment to enjoy the act of throwing them about the room haphazardly before he returned to the bed to straddle the albino. Gilbert grinned, knowing that the Austrian had prepared himself earlier that night, whilst waiting for the Prussian to arrive. They'd learned early on that too much time was wasted if they waited until they were in the heat of things to stretch the brunet. Doing so beforehand was far more efficient.

Roderich took hold of Gilbert's member and lined himself up. A long, drawn out groan came from one of them as he slowly enveloped the albino, pausing once he was fully seated to adjust to the other's girth. Once Roderich was ready, he nodded to Gilbert, giving him permission to place his hands on the Austrian's hips (which he didn't hesitate to do). Roderich lifted himself up only to drop himself back onto the Prussian's "five meters." They both moaned, and the Austrian started up a fast rhythm.

In this position, Gilbert could do little more than direct the Austrian's movements with the hands he had placed on the other's bare hips and simply enjoy the pleasurable feeling of Roderich's inner walls gripping his member. The rhythm was set by Roderich, and any adjustments in the angle were the brunet's doing as well. Though he was the one being taken, he was still in control.

The bed was beginning to squeak slightly in protest as Roderich quickened the pace, forcing moans from both their throats and pushing them both closer to the edge. The brunet's head suddenly rolled back after he changed the angle, and Gilbert knew by the moan that sliced the air, higher and louder than its predecessors, that a certain bundle of nerves had been struck.

They moved faster now, rougher, moans echoing around the room and filling the air along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Gilbert felt the impossible heat around his member constricting and knew the brunet was near his end, as if the groans of "So nah…" weren't clue enough.

"Wer ihre Zu-_ughn_-zunge jetzt v-verloren?" the albino teased through his pants and moans as he moved one of his hands from the brunet's hip to the hit neglected member. The Austrian opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled moan as Gilbert pumped him in time with their thrusts. The walls around the Prussian's member suddenly tightened as the combined pleasure from his sweet spot and his member proved too much for the pianist, and with another strangled moan, Roderich's seed exploded from him, painting Gilbert's hand and both of their stomachs in white. He rocked his hips a few more times and dragged Gilbert over the edge into ecstasy as well, earning another loud, drawn out moan.

They both stayed there for a long moment, panting and basking in the post-orgasm glory. Eventually Roderich pulled off of Gilbert, wincing as some of the semen slid out of his entrance, and collapsed on the bed beside the albino. They laid there for some time as they slowly recovered. Gilbert glanced sideways and smirked at the blatant hickies along Roderich's neck.

"Raus, Hure," Roderich muttered after a while. Gilbert sat up and delicately retrieved his cross.

"Bis zum nächsten Mal, Schlampe," he replied once the necklace was back around his neck. He dragged himself up off the bed and looked around the room for his clothes.

"Meinst du nicht salope?" Roderich smirked. Gilbert frowned, trying to remember where he'd even heard the word before. He had no clue how he knew it. Roderich seemed to realize this, and it only made him look even more smug. "Versuchen Sie, Ihren Freund Matthew." Gilbert's eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing. He must have picked it up when he heard Matthew singing in French. He wondered how Roderich knew the word though. An entertaining possibility came to mind.

"Sagen Sie hallo zu Francis für mich das nächsten Mal," he smirked. The Austrian turned away from him.

"Nach Hause gehen," he commanded. Gilbert snickered and pulled on his boxers and pants before leaving the room, searching for the rest of his clothes.

He made sure to break another vase on the way out.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you very much for reading! This chapter is so long; it's thus far the longest in the story.  
I feel like I should apologize for writing porn, but...well at least a fourth of the reasons this story is even being written are smut based so...  
I apologize if it's not very good or accurate. I've only written this sort of thing once before this, and I don't think that time was very good either. If you have tips on how to improve, please feel free to share.

This chapter begins the deeper parts of this story. As the main pairing is PruCan, most of these deeper moments will involve those two (mostly Gilbert I think...sorry about that...), but there will be a few deep things for Alfred I know, and most likely Arthur as well.  
Believe it or not there's actually a legitimate reason for this one night stand. I swear I didn't just write smut for the hell of it.

I don't know enough about PruAus to feel like I'm allowed to say I ship it, so this is as close as you'll get for this story. To be honest, I haven't actually watched much of Hetalia beyond APH. I've seen a few World Series episodes (15 maybe?) but I don't think it's really enough for me to properly handle their relationship.

Next chapter will be the gig finally! I can't wait, I hope you are just as excited as I am.

And as always, thank you for editing, Hornet394.

Translations for this chapter:  
Ja: German; Yes (please see earlier notes on Gilbert's usage of Ja)  
Hallo?: German; Hello? (see previous notes on Gilbert's usage of Hallo to answer the phone)  
S-salope: French; S-slut.  
So nah: German; So close.  
Wer ihre Zu-_ughn_-zunge jetzt v-verloren?: German; Who's l-lost their to-_ughn-_tongue now?  
Raus, Hure: German; Get out, whore.  
Bis zum nächsten Mal, Schlampe: German; Until next time, slut.  
Meinst du nicht salope?: German (and French); Don't you mean salope? (salope being French for slut)  
Versuchen Sie, Ihren Freund Matthew: German; Try asking your friend Matthew  
Sagen Sie hallo zu Francis für mich das nächsten Mal: German; Say hello to Francis for me next time.  
Nach Hause gehen: German; Go home.

Thank you very much for reading.

~VV


	10. Ring Toss

_-Close your eyes, clear your heart, cut the cord.-  
__Human; The Killers_

_-Hetalia-_

Matthew felt sick.

It was the morning of the competition. The contest was being held during a festival of some kind at the fairgrounds. The bands would begin to play just after noon, but already the grounds were crawling with people. For once in his life, Matthew was glad he was practically invisible.

Gilbert put a hand on his shoulder, grinning with just a hint of smugness as he looked out over the crowds. Alfred was to Matthew's right while Arthur stood on the other side of Gil, looking around for where they would sign up.

"You ready to knock them dead, Birdie?" Gilbert asked. Matthew bit his lip.

"Dude, we're gunna kill 'em!" Alfred nearly shouted. Matthew knew for a fact the blond hadn't slept again. Alfred had woken him up at seven with all the excitement of a ten year old boy on Christmas morning, and he'd only gotten more enthusiastic as the day wore on. It was only a little after ten now, but Matthew was worried that if Alfred got any more excited he'd start trembling like a small dog.

"Assuming we actually get to go on," Arthur pointed out. He turned away from his scanning and back to them. "I don't think it's anywhere over that way. Maybe it's over near the food stands."

"Woo, food!" Alfred threw his arms up. Matthew didn't want to even think about eating. He knew that if he put so much as a single fry in his stomach it would come back to haunt him, quite literally. He remembered now exactly why he was reluctant to be the lead singer.

"You just ate like half an hour ago," Gilbert rolled his eyes, oblivious to Matthew's problems. It registered in the blond's mind that the 'Prussian' left his arm around his shoulders, almost possessively, but he wouldn't let himself analyze that at the moment. Keeping the remnants of last night's dinner in his stomach was his top priority. The smell of funnel cakes and cotton candy in the air weren't really helping.

"I feel sick," he mumbled. He was ignored, not that he really expected a response. Alfred began leading them towards the game stalls, and Gilbert steered Matthew after him when the blond didn't move.

"Dude, bet I can win this," Alfred grinned, running up to the nearest stall. It was a ring toss game, it seemed. Alfred handed over a few dollars and Gilbert's arm slid away from Matthew's shoulders, bending like its twin as the albino crossed his arms, clearly doubting the American.

"I disagree," Arthur huffed playfully. Alfred's grin only widened.

"I'll win you something, then," he said. "That way you'll have a permanent reminder of how you were totally wrong."

"Well are you going to talk about it all day or are you actually going to do something," Gilbert challenged. Alfred picked up the rings the stall runner had set on the counter for him. He threw one and it bounced off of three bottles before finally falling between two. Gilbert laughed loudly.

"Shut up, that one just slipped," Alfred complained. "I'll get it this time."

He was wrong. The ring bounced off the rim of the mouth of the bottle and fell down like its brother. Alfred frowned and threw another one, which met the same fate. Gilbert threw his head back with laughter, and Arthur was grinning. Matthew was too busy trying to suppress his urge to throw up in the nearest trashcan to really laugh, though he had to admit, a little guiltily, Alfred's failure _was_ amusing.

Alfred's luck didn't improve with his fourth toss. Gilbert had managed to stop laughing long enough to watch the ring fail miserably to land around the neck of a bottle. The albino snorted and fell into another fit of laughter.

"I say, could you be a worse shot?" Arthur jabbed, laughing slightly himself. Alfred pouted, making Matthew smile just a little, despite the acrobatic turn his stomach had taken.

"Last ring," the stall runner pointlessly reminded Alfred. The American tensed, slipping into a state of complete focus apparently. Gilbert tried and failed to stop laughing at the blond's expense. Arthur leaned against the counter to better watch the final ring. Taking a deep breath, Alfred tossed his last chance to redeem himself. It was the only one that actually landed the way he wanted it to.

"Ha!" Alfred grinned. "I got one," he said proudly. Gilbert snorted, still not quite under control of his laughter. Matthew sighed softly.

"Here you go," the stall runner said, barely hiding his smirk as he gave a handful of candy to the American. Though Alfred grinned at the prospect of edible rewards, it was obvious he was disappointed he hadn't won one of the better prizes hanging above their heads. Gilbert cackled at the pitiful prize.

"Jeez, don't die on us, Gil," Alfred rolled his eyes, looking a bit miffed. Gilbert leaned on the counter for support, nearly on his knees as he began crying from all the laughter. Arthur stole one of Alfred's candies.

"You did win me something," he smirked at his boyfriend. Matthew wasn't sure what had happened to smooth over their fighting but he certainly wasn't complaining. Alfred stuck his tongue out at the Brit.

"Oh gott, that's the best you can…" Gilbert managed through his laughter. "Only one ring," he wheezed. His laughter was infectious, and Matthew couldn't help but chuckle slightly along with Arthur as Alfred pouted again.

"Oh yeah? Let's see you do better," the blond huffed. Gilbert slowly composed himself.

"I can do way better than you," he bragged, pulling out the money for the man running the stall. The man grinned and handed over the rings, looking just as interested in the competition as the four boys were.

"You gunna talk or you gunna do something?" Alfred mocked. Gilbert smirked and tossed the first ring. It landed perfectly. Arthur exploded with laughter as Alfred blushed slightly and pouted again.

"Beginner's luck," he reasoned.

"Oh ja? Then what's this?" Gilbert shot back, tossing another ring. It landed just as flawlessly as the first. Arthur was slumped against the counter laughing.

"Alright, do it again then," Alfred challenged. Gilbert threw his third ring. It landed around the neck of a bottle without even touching its mouth. Matthew began laughing softly. Arthur had his head buried in his arms as he continued to laugh.

"Feel embarrassed yet?" Gilbert taunted. Alfred crossed his arms and looked away. The albino just smirked and threw his remaining rings, each one landing just as easily as the other three.

"We have a grand prize winner!" the stall runner called out, and Matthew was pretty sure he only did so to rub it in Alfred's face. "Pick any of the things hanging up here," he added, pointing to the biggest prizes. Gilbert grinned and chose a large white bear.

"Here you go," he said, smirking as he held the stuffed animal out to Alfred. "So you'll remember how much more awesome I am than you."

"No thanks," Alfred muttered. Gilbert shrugged.

"Fine, I'll just give it to Mattie then. That way it'll still be in your house," he grinned, depositing the large animal in Matthew's hands. Matthew had no choice but to hug it to his chest so it wouldn't fall to the ground and get covered in dirt. Alfred pouted as Arthur dragged himself up off the counter, still catching his breath.

"L-let's just go find the sign-ups," he managed. Alfred gave a noncommittal grunt and let the Englishman lead them away from the ring toss stall. Gilbert didn't put his arm around Matthew this time.

Matthew tried not to miss it.

_-H-_

He was going to throw up.

There was no other way to say it. He knew it would come sooner or later, and presently it felt as though the former was the option his stomach had decided on.

They'd found the sign-up area and the stage right by the food area, as Arthur had suspected. By then it was around eleven thirty, and Alfred managed to convince them to get lunch. Matthew had of course been too focused on his urge to vomit to even bother buying something to eat. He wasn't sure if he regretted it or not now. On one hand, the way his stomach was squirming suggested there was no way he could hold down anything had he eaten. On the other hand, not eating anything all day was not the best idea, and he was starting to feel just a tad lightheaded. If he didn't throw up on stage he'd probably faint with his luck.

They were standing in the crowd that had gathered before the stage when the announcers proclaimed the competition would begin shortly. Matthew's stomach was worse than ever as he felt the impending doom that was their coming performance. They were last in line, since they'd been the last to sign up, which was good because they could put it off, but it was bad because the crowd would probably be tired out by the end, and unless they made an amazing impression, Brother Complex would be easily overlooked when the crowd voted for the best band.

"Are you alright, Matthew?" Arthur asked, pulling him away from his panic for a moment. "You're looking a little green. You didn't eat something bad, did you?"

"He didn't eat something period," Gilbert answered for him. Matthew hugged the big white bear closer to his chest as his stomach flipped again. He chalked it up to panic, but he had a feeling that wasn't the cause for once. He didn't let himself think about that right now, though. He had enough on his plate.

"Jeez, dude, how the hell do you even do that?" Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I'd totally die if I didn't eat."

"Well we all would die if we didn't eat," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Not what I meant," Alfred snorted.

"Ladies and gentlemen," one of the announcers came out on stage, distracting the teens from Matthew's health issues. "Welcome to the Amateur Band Competition!" Several people clapped and cheered. "Alright, we're going to call up the first band in a moment, but before that we're going to explain how everything's going to go." Her co-worker took over.

"Okay, so while one band is performing, we'd like to have the next band back stage so we don't have to wait too long between bands. Each band will perform three songs for you, and at the very end you can come up and vote. We'll announce the winners thirty minutes afterwards." The crowd cheered again, though Matthew wasn't really sure why.

"Right! So our first band will be The Nordics!"

_-H-_

Matthew was panicking.

The third to last band was finishing up their third song. The second to last band would be on next, meaning that Brother Complex would have to go backstage. Matthew had hoped that as the afternoon wore on, the crowd would thin, at least slightly, but the universe seemed to be against him. If anything, the crowd had grown, doubled possibly.

Matthew wasn't sure if maybe it was just nerves, but it seemed to him that nearly every lead singer that went on was ten times better than he could ever be. Gilbert and Alfred didn't seem to have noticed; as the crowd grew, so did their excitement. Arthur looked slightly nervous, but he had it under control. Matthew was literally trembling. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat and he was so hot he was sweating a little. The fact that he'd spotted a few French people he knew in the crowd did not help in the slightest. His stomach jerked at the thought, and as the third to last band left the stage he realized he really was going to throw up.

Arthur led them backstage. Matthew dropped his bear, making a beeline for the small trashcan.

"Ah, shit," he heard Gilbert say in surprise as Matthew fell to his knees.

"Mattie!" Alfred called. All three boys ran to his side. One of them pulled his hair out of his face for him as he emptied his stomach into the bin.

Matthew slowly sat up once the deed was done, vaguely registering the sound of the other band performing for the crowd.

"Here," Arthur said, holding out a water bottle. Matthew took it gratefully and rinsed his mouth as Alfred put a hand on his back. Gilbert didn't seem to realize he was still holding the blond's hair out of his face. Matthew couldn't bring himself to care.

"You gunna be okay, dude?" Alfred asked. Matthew nodded weakly. Three pairs of eyes were glued to his face. He let out a silent sigh.

"I-I'm okay," he mumbled.

"You're sure?" Arthur asked. Matthew nodded again, brushing aside a strand of hair Gilbert had missed. The albino let go of his hair and left them for a moment, returning with the large bear.

"Don't faint on stage, ja?" he smirked. Matthew saw through it and nodded, silently promising Gilbert that yes, he really was okay. Gilbert grinned slightly, handing over the bear. "Anyone else wanna ditch their lunch before we go on?"

"No way man," Alfred grinned, rising to his feet and offering Matthew a hand. The Canadian gladly took it as the others rose as well.

"This is it," Arthur smiled.

"Our first gig," Gilbert nodded. "We're way more awesome than these losers; we're gunna win by a long shot!" Alfred nodded in agreement while Matthew shuffled his feet nervously.

"We'll at least do well," Arthur added in. "Don't worry, Matthew."

"I-I'm not," Matthew mumbled. He swallowed as a song came to an end, setting the bear down. He wasn't sure how many songs the other band had done. The four boys waited, holding their breaths. Another song began and they let out a collective sigh, sheepishly glancing at one another.

"Looks like we're all a bit high strung," Arthur smiled.

"Ja right," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "We're going to win," he insisted, standing a little too stiffly to be completely relaxed. Matthew hid his smile. It was comforting in a way to know Gilbert was nervous as well.

It wasn't long before the next song ended, and they stiffened again, listening to see what would happen next. As the crowd's cheers died down, the announcers' returned.

"This is it," Arthur repeated.

"All or nothing," Alfred nodded.

"Good luck everyone," Matthew whispered.

"We're going to be awesome," Gilbert grinned.

"Brother Complex!" the announcers called. The crowd cheered. The boys stepped on stage.

Matthew felt himself tremble as he approached the lead's microphone. His heart was racing, and his stomach felt as though it had caved in on itself. He felt a cold wave rush through him despite the heat of the late July afternoon. He avoided looking out at the massive crowd, casting a glance over either shoulder at Gilbert and Arthur to see if they were ready. He turned to check on Alfred, who nodded and gave him the thumbs up. Matthew closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned the gesture once he'd reopened his eyes.

"How are you dudes tonight?" Alfred called out to the crowd, who burst into cheers. The band had decided that Alfred should be the one to introduce them, since the band was his dream originally anyway. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, guitar's Gilbert Beilschmidt, bass's Arthur Kirkland, and our lead's Matthew Williams!" The crowd cheered again. "We're Brother Complex!"

Gilbert began the first notes of Farouchement as the crowd let out another chorus of cheers and Matthew gulped, closing his eyes again as Arthur and Alfred picked up on the intro. He thought back to the advice Gilbert had given him when they went over the songs.

"_Just pretend it's just you and me, then. You can sing it with just me here, so just ignore the rest of them if you have to. But I think you shouldn't have to do that, Birdie."_

"_Wh-what do you mean?"_

"_I've seen you when we play in the garage. That first time you were dancing even though you were torn up not even three hours earlier by that dog."_

"_I don't see where you're going…"_

"_Ja you do. I'm just saying…don't fight that. If that's what it takes to loosen you up, go for it."_

Matthew took in a shaky breath, focusing on the music as it neared the lyrics. Holding it in, he let it fill his entire body. He tensed every muscle, and tightened up like a spring.

Then he let it out.

"_Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom,"_

_-H-_

The winners were being announced.

Matthew stood between Gilbert and Alfred, hugging his bear and biting his lip as he looked up at the stage along with everyone else in the crowd. Whatever had possessed him while he was performing had gone the moment he stepped backstage to retrieve the bear, and he still felt dizzy from the rush the adrenaline left behind when it left his system.

"Alright, if the following bands could come on stage, please!" the announcer called out. Her partner opened his envelope.

"In order of performance, we have Truth or Dare…" he hesitated for suspense as the crowd roared and the band named came on stage. "…Stutter…" Matthew held his breath, knowing there was only one other band to go. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gilbert's right hand flutter up to his iron cross. Alfred clasped his hands together as though praying, and Arthur crossed all his fingers. Matthew hugged his bear tighter. "…and….Brother Complex!"

Matthew felt his heart skip a beat as Alfred leaped a good six inches in the air and whooped. The blond practically ran to the stage, and the other three were right on his heels, Matthew not even bothering to set down the massive stuffed bear this time. They filed onto stage, grinning like idiots.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your top three amateur bands!" The crowd exploded with cheers.

"In third place," the male announcer began again, effectively silencing the crowd. His coworker slowly opened her envelope, unfolding the paper as if it would burst into flames if she moved too quickly. She took her time reading it even though it couldn't have been more than three words. Looking at the bands and then the crowd with a massive grin, she finally revealed the third place band.

"Stutter!" The crowd cheered, though there were audible boos from fans who believed Stutter should have won first place. The group shuffled forward, grinning all the same and accepted their plaque and the hugs the announcers offered them. Once they'd returned to their place on stage and the crowd had calmed a bit again, the announcers continued. "In second place," the woman began. Her partner opened his envelope just as slowly as she had. Matthew held his breath. Alfred and Arthur clung to one another's hands. Gilbert had his eyes closed.

"…and our second place winners are," the announcer repeated his companion, building the suspense to the point of annoying the crowd. Matthew thought he might be turning blue from lack of air as he continued to hold the same breath. "…Brother Complex!"

Truth or Dare jumped up and down, hugging one another and cheered just as loudly as the crowd, which had gone ecstatic at the news. Matthew let out his breath, feeling both thrilled and disappointed at the same time. They'd come in second place, out of at least fifteen bands, but they hadn't won first. Gilbert seemed to be facing the same complex as his hand fluttered to his cross again, and Matthew pretended he didn't notice the albino look up at the sky for half a second.

Alfred on the other hand seemed to be perfectly pleased with second place. As Gilbert led the way to the announcers, Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him into a kiss. He grinned as he pulled away, turning to the crowd that was erupting in a frenzy of responses to the action. He didn't seem to notice the annoyed look on Arthur's face underneath the blush, and Matthew hoped that the Brit wasn't actually irritated, or he'd be hearing all about the fight later on. Alfred flounced forward to accept the medal they were presented with.

Gilbert put his arm around Matthew's shoulders.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so very much for reading! And thank you once again Hornet394 for giving this a look before I put it up. _And _thank you NikitaRain for your inspiration for the next chapter. A big thank you to those of you who've been reviewing this little mess of mine; without all of you wonderful people this story wouldn't be nearly as much as it is today (though that's not a lot, is it...)  
Another longer chapter. Maybe this length will become the norm from now on - it just depends on how much I have to write I guess. I really do like this chapter. It's fun and a little silly, but it's also got key elements to the over all plot line. I hope you enjoy it as well.

The ring toss is sort of an allegory for Prussia and America's armies at this time. America had militias throughout the colonies while Prussia had some of the greatest armies. Therefore Gilbert's good at ring toss...

Translations for this chapter:  
Gott: German; god  
Ja: German; yes (see previous notes)  
Farouchement: French; fiercely  
Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom: French; Don't make a sound unless you're screaming my name.

I apologize for any faulty translations. Thank you very much for supporting this story.

~VV


	11. One for Sorrow

_-But I know all I know is that the end's beginning-  
Shattered; Trading Yesterday_

_-Hetalia-_

Francis called a few days later.

It was actually the next day of practice. The band had gathered at Alfred's house as per usual, though they'd decided to take a day off of actual practicing to celebrate their win.

They were crowded together in Alfred's bedroom, as it was biggest. Matthew was lounging on the bed, pillows at his sides to ensure he put as little strain on his injury as possible. Alfred had surrendered his desk chair to Arthur, and stood nearby, tossing McBurger around absentmindedly. Gilbert sat by Matthew's feet.

"So it looks like you're back on bed rest," he teased Matthew. The Canadian nodded.

"How bad is it?" Arthur asked. "I never did get a good look at it." Alfred saw Matthew bite his lip, glancing at the bedroom door.

"Go ahead and show 'em, bro," the American said, stepping forward to push the door shut completely. Matthew stared at him for a long moment, clearly still worried about his mother coming in, before he gave in and nodded, raising a hand to unbutton the plaid shirt he was wearing. Alfred liked to tease him about his shirts. They made him look like a lumberjack.

"I can't move very much anymore because of the soreness," the Canadian mumbled as he slowly undid each button. "If I bend too far in any direction, it feels kind of like I'm being kicked in the ribs." He finished with the buttons and brushed the shirt open, revealing the red and purple remains of the dog's attack. Gilbert let out an appreciative whistle while Arthur hissed in sympathetic pain, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Alfred? There's someone on the phone for yo-Oh my dear Lord! Mattie, what's going on?"

All four boys jumped as Matthew's mother entered the room uninvited. Alfred's breath caught as their secret was discovered, and he glanced over his shoulder at Matthew, wondering what he would say. The others turned to the Canadian as well, four sets of eyes focused on him, waiting for an answer. Matthew winced and bit his lip before answering.

"I-I uhm...w-well...there was this dog...at the shelter-"

"Oh, Mattie!" his mother breathed, hurrying forward. "Boys, can you give us a minute?" she asked without even looking at them. She didn't wait for an answer either. "Alfred, I left the phone on the table. I'm not sure why he didn't call your cell, but there you have it." Alfred nodded, casting Matthew an apologetic look from behind his mother before nodding to the door and leading Gilbert and Arthur out. With nothing else to do, he brought them downstairs to the living room and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"'Ello, Alfred," a French accent purred.

"Hey Francis. 'Sup?" Alfred asked, momentarily distracted from his concerns for Matthew.

"I would just like to say congratulations on your victory at the fair," Francis said. Alfred grinned, slightly confused. Francis didn't usually pay him any attention.

"Er, thanks? I didn't see you in the crowd," he said. Arthur glared at the phone as if that would cause the Frenchman some kind of harm.

"What's he saying?" he huffed, crossing his arms.

"Ja, what's up?" Gilbert asked, his tone much more welcoming.

"He says congrats. He saw us play," Alfred answered.

"Oh, is there someone else there?" Francis asked. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, the band's all over here. Matt's busy right now, though," he answered.

"You know he can't see you nodding, right?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Alfred wasn't really paying attention to him.

"That is too bad. Be sure to tell 'im-"

"Just put it on speaker, git," Arthur said, talking over Francis.

"Oh, right," Alfred nodded, turning the phone to the side to press the button. "You're on speaker now, Francis," he informed the blond. "What were you saying?"

"I said to tell Matthew that I really enjoyed 'is singing," the Frenchman repeated. Gilbert burst into a fit of snickers. Arthur smacked him in the head.

"Hey, hands to yourself, Blondie," Gilbert grunted, swatting back at the Brit, who easily sidestepped the attack.

"Why are you even calling here, frog?" Arthur spat. The Frenchman's iconic 'Hon hon hon,' of a laugh sounded over the line.

"As I was saying, I enjoyed Matthew's singing," Francis repeated. "I was 'oping I could 'ear it again, non?" Alfred frowned in confusion.

"You called to...hear Matt sing?" he said slowly. Gilbert snorted and rolled his eyes.

"When and where?" he asked. Alfred blinked, completely lost as Gilbert continued. "Will we have to bring our instruments or do you have some, and what's in it for us?"

"What are you talking about?" Alfred asked. Arthur rolled his eyes at him.

"The frog is offering us our next gig, idiot," he huffed. Alfred blinked.

"What, for real?" He looked to Gilbert for confirmation but the albino wasn't paying attention to him.

"I'm 'aving a party on Friday at my place; a sort of celebration to the last days of summer. Come before seven and bring your instruments. It would be nice if you 'ad a new song, but Farouchement will definitely be welcome," Francis said. Alfred could hear the smirk in his voice. He made a mental note to ask Gilbert to tell him again what exactly the French parts of that song were saying; whenever he asked Matthew the youger just turned bright red and refused to speak. Gilbert had told them once, but Alfred had forgotten it already.

"Hold on just a bloody moment," Arthur snapped, cutting into Alfred's thoughts. "Why the hell would we want to go to your party?"

"You want to become famous, non? There will be quite the crowd, Arthur." Alfred grinned.

"Dude, that's perfect! We'll totally be there, Francis."

"Now hold on, I didn't agree to anything!" Arthur protested.

"Aw, c'mon Iggy," Alfred whined, turning back to the Englishman. "We'll get more fans."

"I doubt it," Arthur huffed. "It's probably just a ploy to take advantage of us somehow," he said, directing a pointed glare at the phone. Alfred looked up at the ceiling when heated voices suddenly reached them, albeit muffled by the floorboards.

"Is that...Matthew?" Arthur asked, forgetting his annoyance apparently as he too looked at the ceiling. Alfred nodded, surprised to hear his step-brother raising his voice.

"That sounds like French," Gilbert added.

"'Ello? Are you still there?" Francis asked. Alfred blinked and turned back to the phone.

"Yeah, we'll be there Francis," he promised. "Gotta go right now," he added, pressing the button to end the call.

"Do either of you now what they're saying?" Arthur asked as Alfred tossed the phone onto the couch, staring back up at the ceiling.

"No clue," Gilbert shook his head.

"I suck at French," Alfred added. Arthur nodded.

The three boys stared up at the ceiling until the shouts eventually ebbed. An eerie silence surrounded them as they cast worried glances to one another, waiting to see what would happen next. They jumped guiltily when the living room door suddenly opened.

"Oh, you're done with the phone, then, Alfred?" Matthew's mother asked as she entered the room, very obviously pretending she didn't know they'd heard everything. Alfred hesitated for a moment, before he pushed away the questions burning in his mind and simply nodded. They all watched, fidgeting uncomfortably, as Matthew's mother crossed the room to the couch.

"Please remember to put it back when you're done next time," was all they got in response.

"R-right, sorry," he mumbled, nodding again. They watched her return the cordless phone to its dock and leave the room before they let out a collective breath, which none of them had been aware they were holding. They shared an awkward glance, unsure of what else to do.

"...We should tell Matthew about the gig," Arthur said eventually. Alfred nodded.

No one moved.

_-H-_

Alfred pulled up to Francis's house just after six thirty on Friday night.

"Ready dudes?" he asked as he turned the truck off, looking over his shoulder at Gilbert and Matthew, who were unbuckling in the back.

"Of course the awesome me is ready," Gilbert snickered, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Matthew's response was far more subdued.

"Y-yes..." the blond mumbled, not looking up. Alfred let out a small sigh before climbing out of the truck. He really hoped the party could help cheer his step-brother up.

Alfred walked around the truck to open Arthur's door for him, something he'd started doing ever since their last date. He was beginning to think that Arthur didn't like saying what he really thought, so he had to try and catch subtle hints, something he wasn't all that great at.

The British teen hopped out of the truck and landed beside Alfred, offering him a nod of approval before going to the back of the pick-up to help unload the equipment, ignoring the American's outstretched hand. Alfred tried not to be too down about the fact that Arthur had once again avoided holding his hand in public. To be honest the limited amount of affection Arthur offered him wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting when the Brit agreed to go out with him. One kiss in over two weeks of dating was hardly what he considered normal, but, he reminded himself as he shut the door and half jogged to the others to help with the drums, Arthur was still recovering from the break up with Francis, and he wasn't always the most affectionate person anyway. Alfred tried to ignore the fact that all of that just sounded like excuses to him.

The drums were heavy, and there were too many for the four of them to even bring in all at once. Alfred had to set down the drum he was carrying - the heaviest one, because he'd insisted on carrying the big one - on the front step just to knock on the front door. Thankfully it didn't take Francis long to come and open it, but the Frenchman didn't so much as lift a finger to help them set up, aside from leading them to where he wanted them to perform.

"There are outlets 'ere and 'ere for your amps," the taller blond informed them as they set down the drums and let out a collective sigh of relief. Alfred set to work re-assembling the set while the other three left to get the remaining drum and cymbals, leaving him alone with Francis.

"So, you and Arthur are together now, oui?" the Frenchman asked. Even Alfred knew that Francis had the answer to his own question. Wondering what he was getting at, Alfred decided to humor the older blond for the time being.

"Yeah, a couple of weeks now," he shrugged, re-attaching one of the smaller drums.

"And you are so close already that 'e allows you to kiss 'im in public?" Francis continued. Alfred frowned.

"Not really... That was our first kiss, and it was kinda a spur of the moment thing, y'know?" Alfred still wasn't entirely happy about that, especially when Arthur acted like it was the most scandalous thing in the universe afterwards. He wasn't sure whether he should feel guilty, or angry that Arthur was pinning the blame on him.

"Oh?" Francis smirked, saying nothing more as the others returned with the rest of the set.

"What are you 'oh'-ing about, Frog?" Arthur huffed. Francis chuckled melodically for a moment before waving it off.

"Oh, nothing. Don't worry your pretty little 'ead about it, mon ami," he purred. "If you'll excuse me, I 'ave a few more preparations to finish before the guests arrive," he added, leaving them.

"What was he 'oh'-ing about?" Arthur asked Alfred. Alfred shrugged.

"No clue. He's kinda weird," he answered. That seemed to satisfy Arthur for the time being, and he went after Matthew and Gil to get the rest of the instruments.

The drums didn't take much longer after that to put together, but by the time Alfred was finished the others were already plugging in their equipment. Alfred stood up straight and stretched, a little tired since his usual mid-afternoon nap had to be cut short for this. His stomach growled slightly and he hoped Francis would have food for the guests.

"We should test the microphone," Gilbert said, taking the object in question from Matthew as Francis returned.

"The guests should all be 'ere by seven thirty. I'd like you to perform around nine, so make sure you keep track of the time," he instructed.

"Ja ja," Gilbert waved him off. "We'll be ready. Who's coming anyway? Anyone fun?"

"You'll see," Francis smirked.

_-H-_

There must have been at least three hundred people in that house.

Granted Francis was kinda rich, and sort of really popular, and Alfred knew that there would be a large crowd coming, but the American hadn't expected _this_ many people. He had thought the audience at the competition was big, but that was maybe a third of this. On the bright side, it meant they'd have plenty of new fans. On the even brighter side, it meant Arthur was forced to hold his hand as they moved through the crowd if he didn't want to loose him.

Alfred made a mental note to thank Francis later.

The partiers mainly occupied three rooms. There was the living room, where the band had set up their instruments. Two long tables on either side were laid out with all kinds of snacks for hungry guests while the pulsing roar of the music from the next room danced around them in its more subdued form. Said next room held large speakers and looked like it was normally a ballroom, though now it was a heated mesh of teenage bodies and night club music. On the other side of the living room was the kitchen, where Francis had set out plenty of alcoholic drinks to please the law breaking tastes of the entirely underage party.

In other words, it had the makings to be a pretty kick ass party.

Arthur bluntly refused to go into the ballroom/night club, no matter how much Alfred had pleaded. They'd lost track of the other two members of the band, but every once in a while Alfred thought he had seen the tell-tale silver of Gilbert's hair among the crowd on the dance floor, which only made him beg Arthur even more. Arthur seemed content to stay in the living room with slightly more composed guests such as Ludwig, who had apparently been dragged to Francis's by Feliciano, who was no where to be seen (and probably on the dance floor, Alfred thought bitterly). The older blond was kind enough to let Alfred drag him into the kitchen, though he refused to allow Alfred to drink anything, which sort of defeated the purpose.

Alfred sighed and let Arthur be bossy for now, deciding it'd be best not to have another fight, lest their bassist walk out before they got to go on. He managed to entertain himself for a while with talking to other guests like Ludwig, but after a while it was just Arthur talking with people while Alfred stood beside him, holding his hand and looking around in boredom.

That was when he noticed that people were looking at them weirdly. Their eyes glittered the way Gilbert's did just before he pulled a really good prank, and they hid their mouths behind their hands, sometimes leaning over to whisper to the person beside them, their eyes sticking to Alfred and Arthur. They didn't do it when Alfred was looking at them directly, which was probably why it'd taken him so long to notice, but now that he'd caught it, he couldn't stop seeing it. Three out of every four people looked like they were in on some kind of hilarious joke, and Alfred wanted to know what was so funny.

"So you noticed too," Arthur mumbled to him suddenly, dragging the blond from his thoughts. Alfred turned to look at Arthur and just managed to catch the subtle gesture the other made towards a few snickering girls in the corner.

"Yeah, what's that about?" Alfred asked, nodding.

"I told you I thought the frog would try something. I'll bet he's spread some kind of rumor about us to all the guests," the Brit muttered. Alfred frowned.

"I don't think it's anything that dark. They look like they're just in on some kind of joke," he argued.

"Trust me, Alfred," Arthur said sternly, "someone will try to humiliate us tonight."

Alfred didn't really think so, but Arthur seemed to know something he didn't. Maybe this sort of thing had happened to him before... he was brothers with Scott after all.

"What do you think they'll do?" he asked after a moment. Arthur shook his head.

"I'm not sure, but the way they're watching us, it's almost as though they're waiting for one of us to do something incriminating... Listen to me, Alfred," Arthur's tone changed to a very serious one all of a sudden. "From now on you are to be on your very best behavior, do you understand me?" This again. Alfred frowned, slightly annoyed. The way Arthur talked to him sometimes was as though the older blond thought he was a child without any manners. It was more than a little irritating.

"Yeah yeah, don't eat too much blah blah blah," Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Don't speak like that either," Arthur huffed. Alfred snorted and crossed his arms.

"Iggy-"

"And don't call me that. It's Arthur," Arthur cut him off. Alfred rolled his eyes again.

"Fine, _Arthur, _they'll know we're on to them if I start talking like I'm at a business meeting or something. I'll just be nice and mannerly or whatever and they won't have anything to make fun of, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'm hungry, so I'm gunna go get some food," he added, dropping Arthur's hand for the first time in around an hour. He immediately missed it, but he had to prove to these jerks that he could use manners without Arthur having to breathe down his neck.

Alfred tried to resist smirking as he approached the snack table. He could feel all the eyes locked on him as if they were shooting some kind of tangible beam at the back of his head. He calmly picked up a cookie and made sure to take a small bite as he ate, scanning the crowd again as if he were still bored, though this new game was very entertaining.

Feliciano suddenly appeared, looking around for a second before bouncing over to him, talking a mile a minute.

"Ciao, Alfred! I was just dancing with some pretty ladies when they told me you looked lonely over here, and that I should come talk to you! So here I am!" Alfred grinned, glad they'd sent over someone as oblivious as Feliciano to try and make him slip up.

He made sure to take his time pretending to finish chewing his bite before he made a point of swallowing so there would be no question of whether or not he was talking with his mouth full. This was almost like playing spy; a threat could come from anyone and his every move had to be carefully measured. Alfred grinned at the thought.

"Hiya, Feli. Enjoying the party, then?" he asked, remembering it was polite to be courteous to others or some shit. The bouncy Italian nodded earnestly

"Si! Are you and your band really going to play for us tonight? I bet you're really really good!" the brunet carried on.

"Yeah, dude, we're gunna be awesome. I hope you like it." Humility or whatever. Well, sort of.

Feliciano carried on for a little longer before saying goodbye and disappearing. Alfred checked the onlookers from the corner of his eye and saw that many of them looked a little less smug. He grinned and finished his cookie.

A few minutes later Francis turned up in the living room and came to the mic. The music in the ballroom came to an end and the curious voices of the dancers echoed off the walls as they began to make their way to the living room to see what was going on. Alfred was shocked to see a blushing Matthew leave the dance floor, but he saw Gil cackling behind him and guessed the albino must have forced him to go in. Alfred chuckled and made his way to them, Arthur soon beside him.

"...ever make me do that again," Matthew was whimpering. Gilbert only laughed harder.

"'Ello everyone," Francis greeted, ending most of the conversations. "I 'ope you are enjoying yourselves," he grinned. Three hundred cheers deafened everyone as the guests responded. There was hardly any room to even breathe in this crowd; Alfred wondered how the hell they had even all fit in the living room. "I would like to introduce the live band we 'ave tonight," Francis continued, pausing to allow the crowd to cheer again. "Brother Complex!"

Alfred had to take Arthur's hand again and lead the Brit as he shoved his way through the crowd to make it to the instruments. He could sense Gilbert doing the same with Matthew behind them. He was panting from the effort of shoving so many people aside by the time he finally fought his way to the mic.

"Alright, 'sup everyone?" he greeted the crowd once he'd caught his breath. The teens cheered in response. "Okay, so I'm Alfred, this is my brother Matt, and that's Gilbert, our awesome friend. This British dude is mine and he's Arthur, and we've got the best band you've ever seen, so get ready to rock!" Arthur shook his head at him as the crowd cheered and laughed at the American's little speech. "You good, Mattie?" Alfred asked softly, leaning down to talk in Matthew's ear so none of the partiers would hear. Matthew swallowed and nodded. Alfred handed him the mic and went to his place behind the drums.

"O-our...ahem," Matthew mumbled, clearing his throat to start again. "Our first song is Farouchement," he said smoothly. The crowd clapped, and a few people who'd apparently heard them play before cheered. Gilbert led in and Alfred grinned as he saw the mocking looks of the partiers change into impressed expressions, and then into excitement as Matthew began singing.

"_Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom,_

_That's right, baby, not a single sound,_

_Ne dis rein sauf si tu m'es mendier pour plus,_

_C'mon, baby, whatcha waiting for?_

_Here we go, up and down,_

_Side to side, don't turn around,_

_Just remember, not a sound,_

_Sauf si tu es crier pour plus._

_Laisses-moi te baiser _

_Comme une pute,_

_I'll show you what _

_Your lungs are for, _

_Just open up_

_Et mendies pour plus,_

_While I raise the stakes."_

Alfred didn't know if it was the fast beat, the chords Gil had composed, or the tone Matthew took whenever he began singing, but something was driving the teens wild. Even if they didn't speak French, they had enough to go on to be able to guess there were some pretty sexual phrases falling from Matthew's otherwise innocent lips. As always happened when hormonal teenagers, rock music, and sexual implications were mixed, the young partiers were dancing and grinding against one another. Alfred felt like this was their initiation into the world of rising rock stars. Something about making teenagers of various states of intoxication dry hump one another made them real members of a band, rather than some guys goofing around on instruments for the hell of it.

_"Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom,_

_That's right, baby, not a single sound,_

_Ne dis rein sauf si tu m'es mendier pour plus,_

_C'mon, baby, whatcha waiting for?_

_Tonight, it's just you and I,_

_Roulons entre les feuilles,_

_Faisant de chaque autre cri,_

_My hands are tied, I'm gunna die,_

_Et tu continues à gémir pour moi,_

_Baisons si farouchement._

_Tell me that you want it now,_

_Tell me all about how,_

_You love the sweat across your brow,_

_Quand je te baise comme ça._

_Take control and show me why,_

_Tu veux me sentir dedans,_

_Comment diable as-tu si serré,_

_Chaque fois que tu me baises?_

_Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom,_

_That's right, baby, not a single sound,_

_Ne dis rein sauf si tu m'es mendier pour plus,_

_C'mon, baby, whatcha waiting for?_

_Tonight, it's just you and I,_

_Roulons entre les feuilles,_

_Faisant de chaque autre cri,_

_My hands are tied, I'm gunna die,_

_Et tu continues à gémir pour moi,_

_Baisons si farouchement._

_Baises-moi comme une salope, comme une salope, comme une salope,_

_I can go another round. Do you have the guts?_

_Baises-moi comme une pute, comme une pute, comme une pute,_

_Or even better, let me do it. Let's hear you beg some more._

_Tonight, it's just you an I,_

_Roulons entre les feuilles,_

_Faisant de chaque autre cri,_

_My hands are tied, I'm gunna die,_

_Et tu continues à gémir pour moi,_

_Baisons si farouchement."_

Matthew was the reddest Alfred had ever seen him once the song ended, and the American burst into a fit of laughter along with Gilbert as the crowd went insane with cheers. Whatever intents they had originally had to humiliate Alfred and Arthur that night were long forgotten now that they'd seen the band play, and Alfred wasn't finished with them just yet.

"Hey Mattie," he called over the roar as Matthew reached for the microphone to start the next song.

"Y-yeah?"

"Lemme do something, 'kay?" Matthew looked confused for a moment before he worked out what Alfred meant. Alfred loved that his step-brother could read people - it made things a lot easier when he was trying to do something sneaky. Unless, of course, he was trying to do something sneaky to Matt, but he wasn't this time, so that didn't matter.

"You sure?" was the only protest he got as he walked around the drums, bringing his stool with him.

"Totally," he grinned, sitting down. Matthew nodded and lowered the mic stand for him while Alfred turned to Gilbert.

"What, now?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow. He'd let the albino in on his little surprise, since he was better at composing songs and Alfred wanted this to be perfect.

"Yeah. I wanna show Francy-Pants up," he insisted. Gilbert smirked and handed over the red and white instrument, taking a step back so Alfred would be the main focus of the crowd's attention.

"What are you up to, git?" Arthur demanded as Matthew stepped back to stand with Gilbert. Alfred just grinned and turned to the mic.

"I'd like to dedicate this brand new song to Arthur Kirkland," he announced. The crowd burst into a fit of aw's and Alfred spotted Francis looking rather astonished in the background.

Arthur looked completely stupefied.

_-H-_

Alfred knew they'd won when the not-so-secret glances were directed at Francis instead of them.

"I told you he was behind it all," Arthur said smugly some time after their performance. "The damn frog must be jealous of us, seeing as how he and Jeanne broke up so quickly." Alfred hadn't even known Jeanne had left Francis - he didn't really keep up with that kind of stuff - but he nodded in agreement.

"Probably."

"I think we should leave now, though. At least you and I. Who knows what else Francis might try," Arthur added. Alfred nodded again. If Arthur wouldn't let him go dance or drink, he didn't have much left to do anyway. He'd already talked to nearly everyone in the living room, after all.

"Yeah, but what about Gil and Mattie? They'll need a ride home," he pointed out.

"I'll bring Matthew home for you if you like," Ludwig offered. Alfred had almost forgotten that he was there. "I have to stay and make sure Gilbert doesn't drink himself into too much of a hysteria anyway. The dance floor will only distract him from the beer for so long."

"Alright, just try to be quiet if you bring him back after midnight. His mom'll probably yell at us again if he gets caught breaking curfew," Alfred grinned. Ludwig nodded and promised to be careful before Arthur led Alfred out without saying goodbye to Francis.

Thankfully they'd already loaded the instruments back up in the truck, because Alfred had lost track of Matthew and Gilbert again and he definitely didn't want to do all that heavy lifting with only Arthur to help. He buckled up in the front seat and was ready for a peaceful drive home (and maybe more than a good night kiss) when Arthur began speaking to him.

"We'll have to be more careful from now on," the Brit said, and Alfred instantly knew that despite his totally romantic song, there was no way in hell he'd be able to bribe Arthur into making out with him once they got back to the house. He tried to hide his disappointment.

"What d'you mean?" he asked carefully. He had a bad feeling they were sailing towards dangerous waters. They'd only just stopped fighting, damn it!

"I mean we can't have anyone making a fool of you in public. We have fans now, and while we may have stopped Francis this time, with fame comes jealousy, and there will be more like him who think they can gain by ruining your reputation." There was that tone again. The tone he used that made it sound like he was talking to a five year old. God, Alfred hated that tone.

"Dude, I totally handled that. We've got nothing to worry about," he insisted.

"You wouldn't have handled it if I hadn't pointed out to you just what was going on," Arthur shot back.

"Hey, that's totally not fair! I noticed people were staring at us."

"Yes, about an hour after they'd started," Arthur rolled his eyes. "It won't always be that obvious, Alfred. From now on you should stick close to me at events like this so that-"

"-so that you can baby-sit me like I'm a ten year old and tell me I can't have any fun?" Alfred jumped in.

"-so that I can protect you!" Arthur finished.

"Well excuse me. Sorry I don't remember being the _girl _in this relationship," Alfred huffed.

"I didn't call you a girl," Arthur sighed exasperatedly. Alfred snorted.

"You might as well have. The only people who need protecting are girls and children," he said.

"Alfred," Arthur groaned.

"So which am I?"

"Alfred, you're being very childish. Not to mention rather sexist."

"At least that has the word sex in it," Alfred pouted.

"What? You're not even making sense anymore, Alfred," Arthur sighed.

"Sex. S-E-X. You know, that thing people who like each other do? I'm pretty sure Matthew sang a whole song about it, though he might have been singing about swimming, I dunno, don't speak French. That's not the point! Sex, Arthur. Apparently the only form of it I'm gunna get from you is you saying I'm sexist."

"W-wait, when the bloody hell did this become about sex?" Arthur demanded. Alfred groaned.

"It's not about sex," he began.

"But you just said-"

"It's about the fact that you treat me like a little kid! Half the time I don't know if you're my boyfriend or my babysitter." Alfred sighed as he pulled to a stop in front of Arthur's house. "Look, Iggy, I really like you, but you need to realize I'm not a kid anymore," he said seriously, giving Arthur a pleading look. Arthur held his gaze for a long moment. For a few seconds Alfred thought the Brit was about to tell him he wanted to break up. The silence burned the American as he waited for a reply.

"I'll be late to practice tomorrow," was all Arthur said in response before he got out of the truck. Alfred sighed, unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed, and watched through the rear view window as Arthur went to the back and pulled out his guitar and his amp. Alfred followed him with his eyes as the Brit walked up to the front door and disappeared inside.

Alfred sighed again and drove home.

* * *

**A/N: **I can never say thank you enough for reading this story! Thank you, _thank you_, _thank_ you. This chapter is by far the longest yet, totaling at 5,411 words, not counting this author's note. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Here you have the entire set of lyrics to Farouchement, which rhymes in it's full English version, but not so much in the French. To be fair, Gilbert wrote it in English (and I'm not talented enough in French to make filthy things rhyme just yet.)

This chapter is a bit jam-packed with allegories. We have hints at Jeanne's burning at the stake, as well as the French and Indian War (which I believe is called the Seven Years' War in Europe?) I am aware that the time line of this story is a little messed up. I hope it doesn't bother anyone too much. We also have the Proclamation Line of 1763 (Arthur told Alfred to stick close to him; England told the colonies not to go beyond the Appalachian mountains) and kind of sort of the Quartering Act, as Arthur becomes overly protective.

Each chapter seems to bring in more reviews, and I'm beside myself with shock each time to hear how much everyone likes Brother Complex. Thank you all so so _so_ much for leaving those little notes for me; I can't possibly tell you how much getting these reviews brightens my day.

To the guest reviewer, gueeeesties: I can't even form a coherent response to your review at the moment. Thank you, thank you, **thank you! **I am _far _from perfect, and entirely unworthy of such a compliment, even if it was directed at my writing. I am _very _glad you like this story so much, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you _so _much.

I'm sorry for the delay for this chapter; there were some issues with my computer not wanting to receive the edited version from my beta (And another great big thank you to Hornet394 for all your work!) but I finally managed it today. There was also a lag because on Saturday I went to my very first ever con, ASE, which was a _lot _of fun. I went as Prussia, and I don't think I looked too great, but I got to see one of my favorite cosplayers, avaricerose (tumblr)/CelticMist03 (youtube), in person. Naturally I was too shy to actually say anything to her, but I admired her from afar and that was still wonderful. I did get to ask a question at her Ask a Nation panel later, and over all I had fun and had a rather PruCan filled day.

These A/N's keep getting more and more personal... Is this good or bad?

**Translations for this chapter (I'm sorry most of Farouchement is in French... Gilbert is a sex-addict):**  
Ja: German; Yes (used as yeah)  
Non: French; No  
Farouchement: French; Fiercely  
Oui: French; Yes  
Mon ami: French; My friend  
Ciao: Italian; Hi  
Si: Italian; Yes  
Ne faites pas un bruit sauf si tu es crier mon nom: French; Don't make a sound unless you're screaming my name  
Ne dis rein sauf si tu m'es mendier pour plus: French; Don't say anything unless you're begging me for more  
Sauf si tu es crier pour plus: French; Unless you're screaming for more  
Laisses-moi te baiser: French; Let me fuck you  
Comme une pute: French; Like a whore  
Et mendies pour plus: French; And beg for more  
Roulons entre les feuilles: French; rolling between the sheets  
Faisant de chaque autre cri: French; Making each other scream  
Et tu continues à gémir pour moi: French; And you continue to moan for me  
Baisons si farouchement: French; Fucking so fiercely  
Quand je te baise comme ça: French; When I fuck you like this  
Tu veux me sentir dedans: French; You want to feel me inside  
Comment diable as-tu si serré: French; How the hell are you so tight  
Chaque fois que tu me baises?: French; Every time you fuck me?  
Baises-moi comme une salope, comme une salope, comme une salope: French; Fuck me like a slut, like a slut, like a slut  
Baises-moi comme une pute, comme une pute, comme une pute: French; Fuck me like a whore, like a whore, like a whore

Thank you, _thank you, thank you, **thank you**_for reading.

~VV


	12. Two for Joy

_-Tonight we're going hard, just like the world is ours.-  
We R Who We R; Ke$ha_

-_Hetalia-_

The party was full of fun people.

Gilbert grinned to himself as he weaved his way through the growing crowd in the living room, making his way to the kitchen. Matthew was on his tail, subtly clinging to the back of his shirt. Gilbert didn't blame him. The Canadian wasn't very good with crowds, and Francis's house was packed to the point of bursting.

They passed Alfred and Arthur, who were arguing lightly over whether or not they would go into the ballroom. Gilbert smirked, making a mental note to drag the quiet Canadian behind him into the mass of dancers. Nothing said pick-me-up like dark rooms, loud music, and hot bodies.

They made it through the crowd eventually, breathing a sigh of relief as they entered the slightly less packed kitchen. Francis himself stood by the large kitchen island, where a great assortment of drinks was laid out, chatting with a certain stuffy Austrian. Gilbert grinned mischievously and made his way over to that side of the room, more or less dragging Matthew along with him.

"...crossed the-" Roderich cut off once he noticed Gilbert's presence. "Hello, Gilbert," he said tersely. Gilbert grinned at him.

"Wussten Sie sagen hallo zu ihm für mich?" he taunted. Roderich's cheeks turned the faintest of pinks, but he otherwise held his composure.

"I think you could do that yourself," he said calmly. Gilbert snickered, taking a beer from the counter.

"It's not as much fun that way," he said simply, grinning at the curious look Francis was giving them both.

"Why don't you run along and go grind against someone in the ballroom?" Roderich replied. His violet gaze shifted beyond Gilbert for a moment, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht nehmen Matthew dort noch," he added, forgoing his usual habit of speaking in English around those who didn't speak German. The use of his mother tongue emphasized the double meaning behind his sentence. Gilbert smirked in response.

"All in good time, Specs."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert noticed a familiar tan figure. He turned to see if it was who he thought it was and found one Antonio Fernandez Carriedo staring back at him, a surprised grin on his face as he came closer. Francis stepped forward and spread his arms, putting one on each of their shoulders and pulling them both into a group hug of sorts. They pressed their heads together, laughing lightly and forgetting all about their respective companions for the moment.

"It's been so long since we've all been together like this," Francis sighed.

"Si, ever since ninth grade, no?" Antonio asked. The question brought up more memories than they wanted it to, though, so they silently agreed to pretend nothing had been said. Despite the four years they'd been kept apart, they could still read one another like a book.

"So," Francis eventually said, pulling away just enough to break them out of the hug, "'ow 'ave you been?" As the Spaniard answered the question, Gilbert spotted the shorter, frowning male standing behind his best friend. He looked very familiar.

Antonio noticed him staring at the other and smiled, turning to face the short brunet. "This is Lovino," he said, and Gilbert remembered then where he'd seen the teen before.

"Y-you're Feliciano's older brother...right?" a soft voice mumbled his thoughts from behind. Gilbert looked back over his shoulder at the shy Canadian that was standing awkwardly nearby, clearly still uncomfortable with the amount of people around him.

"I'm going back, bastard," Lovino grumbled at Antonio, pulling their attention back to him. "I don't trust that damn potato eater with my little brother."

Gilbert huffed. "That 'damn potato eater' is _my _little bruder, so watch it," he warned. Lovino gave him a glare and the hint of a smirk.

"All the more reason not to trust him," the Italian replied. Gilbert mirrored his expression.

"You wanna start something?"

"Oh yeah, bring it on, Snow White."

Antonio chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he looked between them. Francis looked mildly amused from where he stood beside Roderich.

"Do you really have so little class that you'll be the guy that got into a fight at the party, Gilbert?" the Austrian mocked.

"This little shit's worth it," Gilbert answered, grinning dangerously. He was pretty sure he'd caught a glimmer of fear in the Italian's determined look, and if Lovino was anything like his younger brother, this fight would be one of the easiest Gilbert had ever been in.

"I said please don't!" a quiet, desperate voice kept the brunet from replying as Matthew moved between them, holding out an arm as if he could hold back his Prussian friend. Gilbert raised his eyebrows at the blond, trying not to start laughing. Matthew had gone so far as to stand at his full height, rather than slouch like he usually did, making the few inches he had on Gilbert rather obvious.

"You gonna listen to blondie, you German pansy?" Lovino mocked, crossing his arms. He flinched when Matthew turned his attention on him, though, and Gilbert snickered.

"I'm not ready to get kicked out," the albino shrugged, turning away from them. "Still gotta show everyone how awesome of a band we are, for one thing. I'll see you out on the floor, Tonio," he called to his once best friend.

"Si, and I can't wait to see you guys go on," Antonio called back.

"C'mon, Birdie, let's get you out on that dance floor," Gilbert grinned as he began walking out of the kitchen. Matthew was left with no other choice but to hurry after him, hating being alone in a crowd. Gilbert snickered as the Canadian gripped the back of his shirt, slouching again as the Prussian led the way through the mass of people and towards the room of pulsing music and moving bodies.

Matthew took one look inside the ballroom and turned a very amusing shade of pink. "I can't go in there," he squeaked.

"Sure you can," Gilbert snorted, leaving no room for argument as he grabbed the blond by the wrist and dragged him inside.

The music was even louder inside the room, to the point that even shouts were difficult to make out over the pulsing beats. Gilbert kept them at the edge of the crowd with the other dancers who weren't comfortable with being surrounded on every side imaginable. He wanted to cheer Matthew up after the week he'd had, not terrify or traumatize him.

Matthew fidgeted awkwardly in front of him once the albino had finally let go of his wrist. The blond bit his lip and glanced around them, making Gilbert roll his eyes.

"Forget about them, Birdie," he shouted over the pulsing beat. Matthew met his eyes, but his gaze kept darting around the room. Gilbert snorted. "Seriously, just you and me," he insisted. Matthew gnawed his lip a little more before nodding hesitantly, keeping his violet eyes focused on the albino.

Gilbert took a moment to focus on the beat before he began moving, free and flowing. He kept his movements simple for the blond's sake, knowing that this was the Canadian's kind of thing, if he'd just let himself go. He'd noticed that Matthew's wounds didn't seem to bother him when he was dancing; whether it was because he ignored the pain to grasp onto the freedom the movements gave him, or if by losing himself in the music he forgot all about the sting of the dog attack, Gilbert couldn't say. All he knew was that he had to show Matthew how to let go and have a good time. That, and the blond was good at it.

Matthew watched him but continued to fidget, looking lost. Gilbert sighed and stepped closer to him, grasping his wrists. "Here, I'll help you," he offered in a shout. Matthew nodded, surrendering his limbs to the albino. Gilbert grinned and began moving again, half dancing with Matthew, half dragging him around. Matthew hurried to keep up mainly so he would stop tripping over himself, and soon Gilbert saw his worried frown become the exhilarated grin of someone who'd finally found something they didn't even know they had been searching for. Less than a minute after Gilbert had begun leading, they were no longer a student and his teacher, but two dancers. Eventually the albino released his friend's wrists, but he didn't step out of Matthew's personal space. The blond didn't complain.

The beats of the songs began to change as the night went on, and soon Gilbert was finding it nearly impossible to resist the call of the crowd. Matthew may not have been good in big groups, but the heat of being surrounded by so many bodies thrilled the albino.

He could tell from the way the Canadian looked at him as they danced that Matthew knew he wanted something, so Gilbert decided to use the blond's ability to read people to his advantage and changed his steps a bit. He fell even further in sync with Matthew, taking a step back for the blond's every step forward. As soon as he was sure Matthew was watching him, lining up with him, he started to lead them closer to the crowd. The shy teen gave him a curious look but let him lead them in, still keeping perfect beat. With every song he'd become a little less self-conscious, a little more free, and as Gilbert focused on leading them and therefore focused more on Matthew than on his own dancing, the albino was reminded of just how much the blond transformed when under the influence of fast music.

Every part of the Canadian moved to the beat, and his every motion flowed seamlessly into the next. As they edged closer to the thick of the crowd, Gilbert knew he wasn't the only one intoxicated with the blond. Other dancers edged closer and closer, and the Prussian smirked knowing Matthew was dancing with him. The people surrounding them on all sides now meant he had to dance even closer to the blond, so close they were almost touching. And he kept leading Matthew in deeper.

Matthew's face was rather red by the time Gilbert was satisfied with their location, and the albino couldn't tell if it was because of all the heat and movement, or if it was due to the fact that they were practically dancing on top of one another. And still the blond continued to dance just as rhythmically and completely as he had on the outskirts of the crowd. Gilbert was tempted, not for the first time, to see how far he could push the blond. There was something about Matthew that made him just too much fun to toy with, and the albino was never one to hold back.

So when the next song started, he moved even closer.

Matthew flushed and Gilbert smirked, but neither of them moved away. A few more dancers came in closer and made it impossible to back out if they'd wanted to. And still Matthew moved as if he was entirely comfortable with this, despite the furious blush on his face and the slightly unsure look lingering in his eyes. Their movements were fast as they brushed continuously against one another, the heat almost over powering them, and finally Gilbert began to feel the satisfaction he craved from the crowd.

The music came to a stop not long after, stilling the dancers' bodies and reminding them all of just how deaf the music could have made them as their ears rang faintly.

"Guess it's time, then," Gilbert grinned at the bright red Matthew. Without the music, the blond looked completely lost again, and Gilbert couldn't help but laugh his ass off. Which only made Matthew flush even brighter while they moved with the crowd out of the ballroom and over to Arthur.

"Please don't ever make me do that again," Matthew whimpered.

Gilbert only laughed harder.

_-H-_

After they helped with the instruments once the performance was over, Gilbert led Matthew back into the ballroom, though it took a lot of coaxing and a promise on the albino's part not to drag them into the center again. Gilbert still managed to dance the Canadian in further than the blond had originally intended to go, though, and that much was enough to please him.

They left the dance floor when Matthew confessed he was becoming a bit tired out, and Gilbert had to give his stamina some credit. He'd never have pinned the blond as the type to go almost all night on anything but homework, and as his thoughts seemed to get progressively more lewd the longer the night wore on, Gilbert found himself wondering just what else his shy companion could go at all night.

It didn't mean anything, thinking of Matthew in the bedroom. Few of his acquaintances were spared from his less than innocent fantasies. Still, Gilbert couldn't resist eyeing the Canadian ass in front of him that led the way to the kitchen, shimmying its way through the crowd, the beat and high of the music not quiet worn off yet.

"...where Alfred went," Matthew was saying softly to him when Gilbert realized he was at risk of being caught staring. He blinked and improvised with a shrug as he slowly registered the question that was asked of him. He knew better than to let Matthew know he hadn't been paying attention. The blond would take it to mean he was being overlooked again, and then he'd pretend he didn't mind when obviously it stung. Gilbert was no stranger to hiding pain, and he wondered if he could tell when Matthew hid something because of that, or if it was that obvious to everyone.

"He better have not taken the truck," Matthew sighed. Gilbert put an arm around the Canadian's shoulder and steered him towards the table where the drinks were laid out.

"I'm sure he did," he shrugged. Matthew sighed again and Gilbert snorted. "Here, you said you were thirsty," he said, pulling a pair of beers forward. He grinned at the labels and made a mental note to thank Francis later for getting German drinks.

"We're underage!" Matthew protested. Gilbert rolled his eyes and forced the bottle into the blond's hands anyway.

"We're teenagers, Birdie. And I'm legally an adult, why can't I make my own choices?"

"I'm only sixteen," the Canadian insisted. Gilbert pointedly opened his drink and took a swig before smirking at Matthew.

"There's a first time for everything," he advised. Matthew frowned a bit and Gilbert shrugged, taking another swig. His eyes were drawn to Matthew's lower lip as the blond pulled it between his teeth and looked down at the bottle. Gilbert downed more than half of what was left of his own drink and glanced around the room, knowing that drinking while he was already in this mind set was probably a bad idea, but that was what made it so irresistible.

He downed the remaining beer and grabbed another.

_-H-_

Eventually he coaxed Matthew into drinking with him, and as was expected, the blond was a lightweight. By the time Ludwig realized Gilbert had gotten into the kitchen, the Canadian was pink in the face and the albino, who had drunk twice as much as him, was cackling at his little hiccups.

"It's time to go," Ludwig informed him sternly. Gilbert found that rather amusing and snickered, which threw Matthew into a giggle fit. Ludwig looked over at the blond and Gilbert tossed his arm over the giggling teen's shoulders just in case. He wasn't sure what exactly he was worried about, but just in case seemed like a good reason.

"Are you going to come or not?" Ludwig sighed. Gilbert snorted and leaned close to Matthew's ear.

"He said 'come,'" he snickered, forgetting to whisper. Matthew blushed a little redder and giggled behind his hand, mumbling out giggly apologies to Ludwig every few seconds. Ludwig didn't seem to get the joke, which made it that much funnier in Gilbert's opinion.

Ludwig walked behind them and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Let's go, then," he said, half guiding, half pushing them towards the door. Gilbert realized suddenly that they were leaving and tried to protest.

"Hey, I'm older then you, you can't tell me what to do!"

"I don't want to have to apologize to the numerous people you'll grope if I let you stay any longer," Ludwig defended himself, dragging them through the living room. Matthew started to giggle uncontrollably again. Gilbert, on the other hand, became inspired. Ludwig slapped his hand away from Matthew's thigh.

The night air was chilly as they were brought out and towards the car. Ludwig pulled open the back door without a word and stood aside for them to get in. Gilbert stood back as well, preparing to argue some more, but he was distracted by Matthew as the blond leaned into the car and crawled across the seats to sit on the other side. Once again Prussian eyes were drawn to Canadian ass, and Gilbert decided he rather liked Matthew and his graceful hips. He was definitely curious to see how those hips would sway beneath him if he pinned their owner to his bed, he added as he followed the blond into the car.

A high voice offering them a cheerful greeting told him Feliciano was in the passenger seat, and Gilbert wondered if the Italian's voice would go even higher whilst in the throes of ecstasy. As though he could guess his brother's thoughts, Ludwig shot him a glare from the driver's seat before starting the car.

"Get buckled," the younger instructed. Gilbert ignored him. He was too busy watching Matthew's nimble fingers work on his own buckle. The remaining sober part of his brain, which was rather small and was slowly being water boarded by the rest of his mind, wondered how the Canadian's hands weren't fumbling given his state. The drunken rest of his brain wondered how nice those fingers would feel on his flesh.

The car glided down the road easily enough, and Gilbert enjoyed the free feeling not wearing a seatbelt gave him. He glanced out Matthew's window, but the moving scenery made his head spin a bit too much for his liking, so he took to watching the blond giggle at nothing instead. Matthew was far more interesting anyway.

"Oh wow, Ludwig, it's almost two in the morning!" Feliciano's high tone announced. He made it sound as though the fact that there were hours beyond midnight was an amazing new discovery. "It's been a really long time since we've all stayed out this long, hasn't it?"

"Ja, well that's because Gilbert is dangerous the longer he stays up after sunset," Ludwig sighed.

At the same time, Gilbert said, "Ja, we should do this more often." He then proceeded to snicker at both the concept of staying out late and the exhaustion he heard in Ludwig's voice. Matthew giggled again, his slender hands making a poor attempt in hiding his delicate lips and keeping the sounds from escaping. Gilbert marveled again at the fact that those hands were so steady despite the Canadian's tipsiness. A question of how soft were those partially hidden lips wormed its way into his head.

Gilbert's curiosity overpowered his rational thinking skills, shoving the remaining sober piece of his mind into a rusty cage it was all too familiar with, and he crawled across the seat to straddle Matthew, smirking down at the surprised expression that crossed the blond's features. The blond tried and failed to hold back more giggles, managing to mumble something about a curfew as Gilbert took his wrists and pulled his steady fingers away from his lips. Matthew's slightly hazy gaze locked with his own as the car turned a corner.

"Gilbert, get off of him, we're almost at his house," Ludwig demanded. Gilbert ignored him, because even in this state he could see the longing look in the violet eyes locked on his, and it only made him smirk further.

He couldn't have resisted the kiss even if he were sober.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm so very sorry this took so long! Thank you very much to those who've stuck around, and I'm happy to be able to bring this chapter to you. Thank you very much for all your support and your patience. Another thank you to Hornet394 for your work editing this story, and to ilybakura for helping me get back on track.

Translations:Wussten Sie sagen hallo zu ihm für mich: German; Did you say hello to him for me  
Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht nehmen Matthew dort noch: German; I'm surprised that you didn't take Matthew in there yet  
Si: Spanish; yes  
Bruder: German; brother  
Ja: German; Yes (used by Gilbert to mean 'yeah')

Thank you very much for taking the time to read this story.

~VV


End file.
